


Halfway Out Of The Dark

by mountain_born



Series: The Marvelous Tale of an Agent, an Archer, and an Assassin [9]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Doctor Who/Avengers Crossover Fusion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountain_born/pseuds/mountain_born
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson, Clint, and River are in England attending a SHIELD training conference.  It should have been the most boring week ever.  They certainly weren’t expecting to find trouble in their own house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is complete, and I'll be aiming to post a chapter every five days while I attempt to beat the upcoming stories into submission.
> 
> I also have building permits to start constructing the shrine to **like_a_raven** , Patron Saint of Betaing.

_December 11, 2008_  
 _London, England_

She was home.

Well, after a fashion anyway.

River dropped her bag on the bed and went to look out the window of her hotel room. Admittedly, the view this close to Heathrow wasn’t all that inspiring, and everything was covered with a skim of light snow. Still, it was England. It might be a distant second to Scotland, but England had the same comfortable, lived-in feeling.

She’d traveled all over the world and America had been her home base for the last few years, but it was always nice to come back to Britain. 

River did a quick check-over of her room, mostly out of habit. The bathroom was clear, as was the closet. They were only going to be at the hotel one night, so there was no unpacking to be done. She adjusted the thermostat so that the room was on the cool side and gave the double bed an experimental bounce. She’d wager Clint would find a way to steal two-thirds of it, but that was all right. He had any number of pleasant ways to make up for hogging all the space, and he was much more fun to curl up with than an extra blanket.

Speaking of which…River checked her internal clock. Clint and Coulson were probably getting settled in their own room by now. 

She retrieved her key card from where she’d dropped it on the dresser and left her room. Time to go see how her boys were getting on.

*****

“SHIELD tax dollars at work,” Clint said, leaning against the wall of the corridor as Coulson unlocked the door of their hotel room.

It had been a very bumpy flight from New York to London, seven hours through the night during which no one had gotten much rest. They’d landed at Heathrow at nine o’clock in the morning, local time. Fortunately, SHIELD agents were adept at adjusting to being dropped into new and exciting time zones, not to mention running on little to no sleep. The real test had been getting through the airport. Coulson knew he had had some fantasies about using deadly force in the customs line, and he’d have been surprised if Clint and River hadn’t, too.

They were in England for work, though not on a mission this time around. There was no mark to take out and no intel to gather, therefore no great need for haste or to transport small personal arsenals. The SHIELD base in England, down in Sussex outside of Brighton, was hosting a special training conference over the next week. Coulson, Clint, and River had been tapped by Fury to attend.

Coulson shouldered open the door. “Suck it up, kid,” he said, leading the way in and dropping his bag on the closer of the room’s two twin beds. They were taking a day in London to get acclimated, then would be catching a ride south to the base tomorrow morning. “People have been talking about the Harper Creek case. Fury wants us to present it at the conference.”

Usually, their team was buried too deep in missions to think much about the long-term effects of the outcomes, but occasionally they got a nudging reminder that Aerie, Hawkeye, and Talon were big fish in SHIELD’s sizeable pond. Their participation in this conference was SHIELD’s way of recognizing that.

Coulson knew that Clint would much rather be holed up in a crumbling building waiting for a shoot-out.

Clint dropped his own bag on the other bed, and then followed it, flopping back across the mattress in a way that made the bed frame give an ominous creak. Coulson watched with amusement. Clint looked like he didn’t intend to move for days, but Coulson knew that odds were good that the younger man would be spending the night elsewhere. After all, River had her own room right on the same floor. Coulson wouldn’t be much of a handler if he didn’t know what was going on between his agents, and had been going on for a year now, ever since that mission in Chicago.

Coulson had been half-braced for it when it had happened. He had known that there had been interest there for a while, at least on Clint’s part. He hadn’t been so sure of River; even once she’d started trusting them more, she’d still kept her hand of cards pretty carefully guarded. When Clint and River had returned from Chicago last December, though, it had been clear (at least to Coulson) that the friendship between the two partners had veered into new territory.

It wasn’t strictly against the regulations. It wasn’t encouraged, but it also wasn’t outright banned. Had he been determined to toe the company line, Coulson would have made sure that Clint and River signed up for some high-level human resources seminars on objectivity, read through a protocol manual that was fully three inches thick, and submitted to regular evaluations as to the exact nature of their relationship.

He hadn’t, though. Coulson had made a call of his own, and his call was ultimately that his agents could make what they would of their relationship so long as it didn’t cause any issues. And thus far, Clint and River had made sure it hadn’t.

The thing was, it was evolving again. Coulson had seen it over the last few months. Now Clint looked at River in the same way Coulson could remember his father looking at his mother a long time ago.

He had no idea if River saw or returned the sentiment. It left Coulson in a slightly sticky place. His agents were adults and it really wasn’t his place to fret over their relationship. Except that it was kind of his job to look out for their emotional well-being. 

Plus, he could really live without seeing Clint get hurt if River didn’t feel the same.

Coulson shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to worry about this. This week was going to be a cake walk. He could borrow trouble when they were back in New York.

“Are you actually pretending that you’re going to crash in here tonight?” Coulson asked.

Clint lifted his head up enough to give Coulson a speculative look. “Why?” he asked. “Do you have a hot date you haven’t told me about?”

Coulson had just opened his mouth to toss out a _smartass_ when a third voice joined the conversation.

“Who has a hot date?” River asked, leaning against the frame of the half-opened door.

Coulson knew he’d closed it. He’d given up on asking River how she did things like that.

“Coulson does,” Clint replied, twisting to the side to see her.

“Really? We just landed.” River grinned. “You’re terrifyingly efficient,” she added to Coulson.

Coulson shook his head, hanging his coat up on the rack in the corner. “In or out,” he said to River. “Either way, shut the door.”

River came in and took a seat on Clint’s bed. She had to pick up his bag to make room for herself, dropping the duffle on her partner’s stomach. Clint pushed the bag off, giving River a light swat on the hip. She dug a finger into his ribs in retaliation. He squirmed away, grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at her. She caught it handily and lightly smashed it over his face.

 _Two of the world’s deadliest assassins, ladies and gentlemen,_ Coulson thought. 

Hawkeye and Talon were consummate professionals on the job. When Clint and River had downtime in private…well, Coulson didn’t really spend much time speculating about what they did. He knew the basic gist and that was enough. 

When they had downtime when Coulson was around, though, his agents tended to revert to a mental age of eight.

Coulson was glad that they could do that, truth be told. They were not exactly in a low stress line of work. If they weren’t able to wallow in silliness sometimes, their mental health would have been left in shreds a long time ago. Clint had always been pretty good at it. The kid had a mischievous streak a mile wide once he got comfortable with people, though there were still very few people he was that comfortable with.

It had been a surprise to learn that River had one, too. 

It had taken a while for it to come out. River had been quiet and closed off for a long time after they had found her in Bulgaria and had brought her into SHIELD. Coulson had wondered if that was just her basic personality, or if whatever events that had led up to her being in that alley had simply damaged her, possibly beyond repair. It hadn’t happened all at once (and, in fact, was still a work in progress) but little by little her walls had begun to come down a bit.

Coulson still counted it as something of a victory the day she’d nearly started a bar fight in his defense. The day that she’d accepted a kind gesture without a look of suspicion. The day she’d teased him without any twist of irony lurking behind her smile. 

And it cut both ways. There had been the day that he’d comfortably dropped his guard when he turned his back on her. The day that he’d seen her disappear off the base and not wondered if he’d have to lead a retrieval team if she didn’t come back. The day he and Clint hadn’t telegraphed the slightest bit of worry that she had them covered on a mission.

They’d all come a long way in three years.

“I bet it’s the stewardess,” River said, giving Clint one final, firm poke. 

Coulson blinked himself out of his thoughts. “Who’s the stewardess?”

“Your hot date,” River said. She looked down at Clint. “The blonde. Did you notice how she stopped by every single time she passed our row to see if Phil needed anything?”

Clint batted the pillow off his face and sat up. “I’m betting on the desk clerk from downstairs. She was eyeing him up when we checked in.”

“I guess ‘both’ is a possibility.”

“As flattering--if disturbing--as I find your faith in my ability to pick up women,” Coulson said dryly, “if the two of you want to go find something to do to keep yourselves occupied today, you won’t hurt my feelings. At all.”

They had the whole day to kill, to get on local time. That meant resisting the temptation to grab a nap, staying up until a respectable bedtime, and basically forcing their bodies onto Greenwich Mean Time. They had to get up early the next day to catch their ride south to the SHIELD base.

“Do you think he’s trying to throw us out before they get here?” Clint asked. 

River gave him a light punch.

“Seriously, Phil,” she said, “you’re not just going to hang around the hotel room all day, are you?”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. _Who’s the handler here, anyway?_ “I’ll find something to keep me occupied,” he said, taking his laptop out of the bag. “You two go on. Get in a run, go pretend to be tourists, something. Why don’t we say we’ll meet up for dinner at 1900 hours?”

Clint and River exchanged a look. 

“Works for me,” Clint said. “We’ll see you back here this evening.”

As Coulson expected, Clint took his duffle bag with him as he and River left. He waited until the door closed behind them before he shook his head and chuckled.

Those two were going to be the death of him.

*****

“So, a whole day in London,” Clint said as he and River walked along the corridor. “Anything special you want to do?”

River always got a certain spring in her step when she was on British soil. She had still never, after three years, named a town as home or even just as a spot where she’d happened to grow up. Scotland was as close as she’d ever narrowed it down. Her SHIELD paperwork, most of which had been pushed through not-exactly-official channels, listed her as an American citizen, a resident of the state of New York. Still, whether she admitted to it or not, Britain was home to her. He could tell.

It was December, and probably not the greatest weather to go roaming around the city, but neither one of them was scared of a little cold.

“All sorts of options,” River said as they walked along, rounding the corner by the elevators. She glanced down at his duffle. “We should go drop that off, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, letting off a blonde woman in a by now very familiar blue uniform, pulling a rolling suitcase. She smiled brightly at the two of them as they passed.

“Hello again!” the stewardess from their flight said cheerfully, and set off down the hall in the direction they’d just come from.

Clint and River exchanged a look.

“It’s a hotel by the airport. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” River said.

“Yeah, probably.” Clint looked back over his shoulder at the retreating form of the stewardess. “But I’m sure as hell not going back there to check it out.”

There was only so much being scarred for life one person could take.

*****

River knew she was smiling like an idiot as she walked down the hotel corridor with Clint. Like one of those innocent teenage girls who were blissfully unaware that life could ever offer up darkness and pain.

It was an interesting sensation, given that she’d never been that person even when she’d legitimately been a teenager, a very long time ago. The first time around. She’d been raised to a life of duty. Raised to think of war and privation as the normal course of things. Stiff upper lip, king and country, and the like. And then, too, she’d gone through a phase of being a bit more proper than she was now.

Still, if she felt like a teenager, she wasn’t the only one. Just outside the door to her room, Clint caught her around the waist, pressed her back against the wall and kissed her, duffle bag dropped heedlessly on the floor.

“Hey. Public,” she said, laughing, when he finally let her up for air. 

He did not look even remotely admonished.

“We’re not on base,” he said, grinning down at her, nose-to-nose. “On any base. And we’re not on a job.” He kissed the hollow under her jaw. “And we’re going to be stuck in separate guest quarters for the duration of this waste of time we’re heading off to. So…”

He was right. They would have to be more careful on a strange SHIELD base. They certainly didn’t flaunt anything when they were in New York, but then New York was their headquarters, and the people there were apt to tacitly ignore any slips they might make. As guests on an unfamiliar SHIELD base, they probably should be a bit more circumspect. 

“In that case,” River kissed the tip of his nose, “I know what I want do to with our day off in London.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked, watching as she fished her key card out of her pocket and fed it into the reader without even having to look. The door obediently clicked open.

River stepped sideways into the open doorway. “Bed.”

“Bed?” Clint blinked innocently, picking up his duffle again. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t sleep in the morning right after you get off a transatlantic flight?”

River raised her eyebrows.

“I said _bed_ ,” River said. She reached out and took hold of his belt. “I never said anything about sleep.”

He didn’t have a word of protest to say when she pulled him inside and shut out the rest of the world.

*****

She was home.

The old kitchen got a surprising amount of light given the thick stone walls and the heavy blackout curtains at all of the windows. It was something about the way it was situated on the hill, River thought, above the town and the harbor. Aunt Elizabeth was even able to keep pots of herbs growing on most of the windowsills.

River reached for one of the pots, rolling a sprig of thyme between her fingers. She frowned a bit. Had she ever been able to reach those pots? Surely she must have by some point. She had been tall for her age, the tallest girl in her class from the time she was ten. _You’re going to be tall like your mother_ , Aunt Elizabeth used to tell her. _I only ever saw Amy Pond once, but she was quite tall and her hair was red just like yours. You take after her._

“Should you be crushing it like that?” someone asked.

River looked over her shoulder to see Clint standing beside the stove.

“It can’t hurt it,” she said. “It’s only one sprig.”

River paused then and frowned. Clint shouldn’t be here, should he? These were parts of her life she tried to keep very far apart. They were never supposed to meet.

Clint looked perfectly at home in the old kitchen, though.

“That’s an interesting disguise,” was all he said.

“What?”

He pointed a finger at her, wagging it up and down, a gesture to say _look at yourself._

She did. She didn’t know what he meant by “disguise.” It was just her old school outfit, her favorite one: a green and blue plaid dress, with a grey jumper, a few sizes too big, over it. It was all a bit shabby, but that wasn’t unusual. New clothes were hard to come by with the rationing.

“It’s not a disguise,” she said.

“If you say so,” he said. He turned his head a little to address someone at the kitchen table. “Do you buy that?”

River turned, and there was Coulson, sitting in one of the heavy old chairs.

“Hard to say,” Coulson said. He was holding a legal pad and a pen and was looking at her like she was a very interesting test subject. “She lies about a lot. It’s hard to tell what’s really her and what’s the cover.”

Anxiety twisted at River’s insides and she felt a sharp tingle, like electricity dancing under her skin.

“I have to,” she said, hoping she could make them understand. “You know that sometimes you have to lie.”

They could understand that, couldn’t they? They did it all the time. Sometimes you had to lie to protect yourself.

“River?” Coulson’s forehead was wrinkled up in mild confusion. “You have something on your hands.”

Confused, River looked down at her hands.

“No. _No!_ ”

Each of her palms was lit by what looked like a tiny sun, and a gold mist was starting to radiate off of her hands. The tingle intensified until it felt like sparks were cascading and writhing under her skin, trying to break free. River could feel her entire body lighting up, preparing to change.

But she couldn’t. She literally, physically _couldn’t_ do this anymore. Even if she could, she wasn’t dying. This shouldn’t be happening.

River tried to force it back. She knew—she’d been told—that some Time Lords could resist regenerating if they chose. But she wasn’t a Time Lord, not really. She had never had anyone to teach her how to manage this part of her. She had never had any real control until that last time, and that last time had meant that she should never have to go through this again.

But now it was happening, and _they_ were here. She was going to change and they were going to see and she’d have to leave or they’d chase her away or lock her up and she’d have no home to go back to—

Her whole body went rigid as she tried to make it stop. _Stopstopstopstopstop—_

*****

_December 12, 2008_  
 _London, England_

A flailing fist to the sternum and a muffled cry of distress woke Clint out of a dead sleep. _Shit_ , he thought, automatically scooting over, putting a little distance between himself and the source before reaching over and turning on the bedside light. River was having another nightmare.

This was far from an every-night occurrence, or even a frequent one, but it happened often enough that Clint knew the drill by now. The main rule was _don’t touch River until she has her wits about her unless she’s in danger of hurting herself._ It was just one of the idiosyncrasies of sleeping with a trained killer.

“River.” Clint kept his voice deliberately calm. “You’re okay. Wake up.”

It could take a few tries, but this usually worked. Whatever had hold of River tonight, though, wasn’t letting go easily. Clint didn’t start to get really concerned until the point at which her entire body seemed to lock up. That was new and fairly horrible to watch.

“ _RIVER!_ Breathe!”

River’s eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, hands fisted in the blankets. Her eyes still looked a little vacant and her breath was coming raggedly, but at least she was drawing it.

“River? Are you awake?” Clint was trying really hard not to sound worried.

As soon as she nodded, Clint wrapped his arm around her and guided her back down, pulling her in tight against him and resting his chin on her head.

“What time is it?” River asked.

“Around 0330 hours,” Clint said frowning. River had to be out of it not to know what _time_ it was. River always knew the time. 

They had spent most of yesterday morning doing a thorough quality-control test of River’s mattress, not venturing out until afternoon. They’d taken the Underground into the closest neighborhood and spent several pleasant hours just exploring the high street before meeting back up with Coulson for dinner. They’d all crashed pretty soon after that.

Clint waited until he could feel River’s heartbeat returning to something like a normal pace before he broached a question. “What was it?”

He couldn’t see her face, but by now he didn’t have to in order to know that she was lying when she answered, “I don’t remember.”

Clint sighed. Something from before, then. Before SHIELD. If River had a nightmare about something that had happened on a mission, or just about random shit, she’d tell him. The times she wouldn’t, he could only assume that something from her past had come calling.

“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

It was hard to keep the undertone of frustration out of his voice. Their relationship—whatever it was—didn’t have many points of friction, but this was definitely the biggest one. 

“You do help,” she said, wrapping her arm around him. “You are helping.”

It was kind of hard to argue with that. He buried his nose in River’s hair and nodded. He felt her relax.

Someday, Clint hoped she’d let him help more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a growing and mutating list of Things To Do tomorrow, so I'm cheating a bit and tossing Chapter 2 up a couple of hours early.
> 
> Oban, Scotland (referenced heavily in this chapter) is a real town. There's even an old, falling-down castle just outside of it. Artistic license has been taken for the sake of this fic.

_December 12, 2008_  
 _Sussex, England_

“There’s really a SHIELD base around here?” Clint asked, looking out the window of the car.

They were driving through the rolling landscape of Sussex, surrounded by winter brown fields, strands of bare trees, and the odd herd of cattle or sheep. It was a far cry from the outskirts of New York, that was for certain.

Agent Peter Stone laughed.

“I know. You wouldn’t think it, would you? Place looks like a post card.”

Agent Stone had picked them up at their hotel that morning. His arrival had been a surprise. The last River had heard a junior agent named Nolan was supposed to drive them. But he’d still been a welcome sight. River and Clint had met and worked with Stone during a multi-pronged SHIELD strike in Berlin about a year and a half ago, and they had both taken a liking to the English agent. Stone was a seasoned, career agent; a craggy man with short graying hair, pale blue eyes, and a blunt manner. He was actually a bit older than Coulson, and unusually for an agent of his age, still worked almost exclusively in the field.

“Got no interest in being on the other side of the comm,” Stone had told River and Clint once the Berlin mission had wrapped and they’d killed a few hours in a bar to celebrate. “They can leave me in the field until I drop, or they can bloody well drop me themselves if I wear out my welcome.”

In spite of his apparent disinterest in administration, though, Agent Stone had greeted Coulson with friendly respect. He had also made a few remarks had River and Clint raising curious eyebrows about some of Coulson’s exploits during his own early days with SHIELD. Coulson had just waved them into the backseat of the car with a patient smile.

“You know, I did have a life before I met the two of you,” was all they could get out of him.

Altogether, it had been a pleasant drive out from London. River had long since shaken off the hangover from her nightmare and Clint had stopped shooting her worried looks when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Agent Stone guided the car through a small village. “Upper Beeding,” he said. “Blink and you’ll miss it, but it has a damn good pub, which I’m sure you’ll get taken on a tour of at some point. A lot of the civilian employees on the base live around here. The base itself is just a few kilometers on down the road.”

“I’ve heard that this base is mostly underground. Is that true?” River asked.

“A good portion of it,” Agent Stone said as he turned the car south, heading out of the village. “Not all of it, but SHIELD built it on an old military site left over from the war. A lot of the tunnels and bunkers were still in good enough condition to be used, so they just incorporated them in. No sense in wasting them. The place is like a damn rabbit warren. It’s a maze underground.”

“Tunnels and bunkers?” Clint asked.

“Back during the Second World War, Sussex was the UK’s front line of defense,” River said. “If there had been a land invasion of Britain, this would have been ground zero. The military and the Home Guard were ready for it, too. It didn’t happen, thank God, but the Germans did make a habit of bombing the hell out of the civilian population down here.”

“Girl knows her history,” Agent Stone said approvingly, nodding at River in the rearview mirror. “Where’d you find time to sit your A-levels?”

“In a hotel room in Delhi, waiting for a target to show. He wasn’t what you’d call punctual.”

Coulson turned toward the backseat long enough to give her an exasperated look. Agent Stone just laughed.

That was one of the things River liked about Agent Stone. River’s past as the Reaper wasn’t a huge secret in SHIELD. It was part of her official dossier, but beyond that, word got around when a rouge element with her reputation was brought in and turned. Her very presence had scared the shit out of some people in the beginning, and still did sometimes. That reaction had lessened over the last couple of years, but Stone was the only agent she’d run across who would actively joke about her previous career.

It wasn’t long before the Sussex base came into view. The chain link fence and block of guardhouses were utterly familiar. Agent Stone rolled to a stop at the gates, exchanging some good-humored words with the guard on duty while they all presented their identification for inspection.

River saw the guard stand up a bit straighter as he checked their identification, and as if at a silent signal, the two other guards manning the gate appeared silently in the background, watching the car. River eyed them apprehensively, tracking the movements of the guards, shooting a look out the opposite car window to see if that way was clear. (It was.) She wasn’t armed at the moment; her sidearm was in its case in the trunk. She could fight just fine hand-to-hand, but there was a distinct disadvantage to sitting in a car while armed opponents stood outside.

The guard just handed their IDs back over with a broad smile, though, and signaled one of the others to open the gate.

“Welcome to England,” he said as he waved them on through.

River relaxed a bit as the car started rolling again. She caught Agent Stone looking at her in the rearview again.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “The whole base has been buzzing about the three of you coming. You’re pretty big news.”

“Why?” River asked. She glanced at Clint and Coulson, but they seemed to be taking this in stride. 

“Hawkeye, Talon, and Aerie? The badass heroes from Harper Creek, among other places? Yeah, the three of you have a bit of a reputation,” Stone said. “Surely you know that.”

River hadn’t, really. Or at the very least, she’d never given it much thought. She had known Clint’s reputation as Hawkeye, of course, before she’d even met him in Sofia, so she supposed that it shouldn’t come as such a surprise to her. And Coulson was Fury’s right-hand man. She had just never thought of herself as having a reputation like that.

Given that the last time she’d been on SHIELD’s collective radar it had been because the organization had wanted her dead, she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

The Sussex base had the same atmosphere of energy and efficiency as the New York base did, but it definitely looked much sparser. Of course, it was a smaller base to begin with. There were fewer buildings and all of them were spread out a bit more. But at a closer glance River could see, here and there, small brick buildings and the occasional low, grass-covered mound that no doubt led to the underground complex that Agent Stone had mentioned. She could see people coming and going from them, carrying out their assigned duties.

Agent Stone parked in front of what could only the base’s main Administration Center.

“Fair warning,” he said, popping open the trunk. “From what I’ve seen, the check-in process for this rigmarole takes a bit. You can take your gear to your rooms once we’re done here, then grab some lunch. You’ll get the grand tour of the base this afternoon.”

River, Clint, and Coulson followed Agent Stone into the building and into an elevator. 

“Assistant Deputy Director Griffiths is heading up the conference,” Stone continued on the ride up. “Good man. Second in command around here, right under Deputy Director Wright. Not sure why Griffiths got a bug up his ass to arrange a production like this. Not that it’s been all bad, I guess. It’s certainly good seeing the pair of you again.” He nodded at Clint and River as they elevator let them out on the third floor. “And apparently the World Security Council is feeling all fuzzy over getting everyone together. Downright disturbing to see them so happy about something.”

The orientation room for the conference was being presided over by a middle-aged woman with short, strawberry-blonde hair and pink cheeks. She looked up with a smile as they came in.

“Flora, my love! I’ve brought you the latest from London,” Agent Stone said.

“Agent Stone. I was just starting to wonder when you’d be getting back.” The woman spoke with a warm Scottish accent that made River smile at the sheer familiarity. She took off her glasses and stood up from her computer. “And this is our New York contingent? Welcome.”

Agent Stone put an arm around the woman’s shoulders and gave her a fond squeeze. “I’d like you all to meet Flora Andrews, Assistant Deputy Director Griffiths’ personal assistant. She’s the person who keeps this base right-side up and running.”

“Oh, go on with you,” Flora chuckled. “He just says that because I’m in charge of the vacation approvals.” She held out her hand to Coulson. “Well, I must say, it is so nice to meet you all in person.”

“Nice to meet you, too…Agent Andrews?” Coulson asked, shaking her head.

“Oh, goodness no. Just Mrs. Andrews. The closest I’ve ever come to being an agent is running the Christmas gift exchange for the secretarial pool. No, I leave the spying and daring-do to you all.” 

She shook hands with Clint and River in turn, and then waved them toward the tables. 

“I’ll need to take scans of your fingerprints to activate your visitor badges,” she said. “Everything else is fairly straightforward. Schedules, handouts, maps, roommate assignments. Not for you, Agent Coulson. We were able to allot enough guest quarters for senior agents to have their own rooms. You should have just enough time to settle in before lunch.”

*****

Part of the purpose of the conference was to get agents to mix with people outside of their usual teams. A quick glance at the schedules showed that Clint, Coulson, and River would be split up for most of the seminars and exercises, only overlapping for some of the larger sessions and, of course, their presentation. The rooming assignments also reflected the goal of inner-SHIELD harmony.

River’s roommate, Agent Park, swung by for a new copy of her schedule while they were checking in, and offered to walk her to the room they’d be sharing in the visitors’ barracks. River promised to meet back up with Coulson and Clint in the mess hall, and the two women left, chatting in Korean. Clint and Stone drifted down to the end of the room, discussing the capabilities of the local base’s firing range.

“Nice girl, that Agent Song,” Mrs. Andrews remarked to Coulson as the women left. Coulson must have inadvertently raised an eyebrow, because she looked at him and laughed. “Oh, I’m not a naïve old lady, Agent Coulson. I do know what sort of work you do. She just reminds me of a niece of mine, I suppose.”

Coulson smiled. “It’s not that I don’t think River is a good person,” he said. “It’s just that _nice_ isn’t the first word that springs to mind when I think of her.”

River was capable of being kind, compassionate, friendly, and loyal in addition to being deadly and efficient. But Coulson wasn’t sure he’d ever qualify her as “nice.”

“No, I suppose the word has too much of an agreeable quality to it, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Andrews replied. “Still, it’s good to see the…humanity, I guess you could say, that both of yours have held onto.” She nodded at Clint who was on the opposite side of the room, joking with Agent Stone as they went over the schedule. “That’s a credit to you, I expect.”

“I think it has far more to do with them,” Coulson said.

And the two of them together in particular.

“I’ve worked for SHIELD for several years now,” Mrs. Andrews said. “I’ve seen a lot of agents come through, as I’m sure you can imagine. It can be heartbreaking to see what becomes of some of them. The younger ones, generally. The older and more experienced they get, the longer they manage to hang in, the better chance they have of keeping heart and mind together, it seems. It’s the younger ones who are more apt to burn out.”

“It’s the nature of the job,” Coulson said. “It’s not easy. It’s not for everyone.”

“Quite,” Mrs. Andrews agreed. She caught sight of something over Coulson’s shoulder. “Ah, Agent Kessler. What are you doing here?”

Coulson turned to see a man standing in the doorway. 

His first impression of Agent Kessler was that the man shouldn’t look so old. He was probably only in his early thirties, but his brown hair was already heavily grey, and his blue eyes were dull and shadowed. As he came into the room, Coulson noticed that his right leg dragged a bit.

“Susan was going to run these up to you, but I thought I’d save her the trip,” Agent Kessler said, handing a stack of printouts to Mrs. Andrews. 

“That was kind of you. Agent Coulson, this is Agent Simon Kessler. He’s a local boy, actually. Grew up in Hastings. Agent Kessler, this is Agent Phillip Coulson, one of our visitors from New York.”

“Pleasure,” Kessler said in a clipped accent, shaking Coulson’s hand. “I’m sure we’re happy to have you.”

Coulson returned the pleasantries, but something niggled in the back of his mind. Kessler. Why was that name familiar?

“Agent Kessler, would you mind showing Agent Barton to his quarters?” Mrs. Andrews asked. “He’s in 301C with Agent Patel.”

“Of course,” Agent Kessler said. As Clint and Kessler left the room, Mrs. Andrews sighed and shook her head.

“He’s one of the ones I was talking about,” she confided to Coulson. “He’s had a horrible time of it, poor man. About four years ago, he was involved in a terrible to-do. It was a protection detail, of a research scientist, I think. Anyway, it went very badly. An assassin killed the scientist and wreaked merry hell on the agents. Agent Kessler was badly hurt. I’m sure you noticed his leg still isn’t quite right. He was out for over a year and has been on desk duty ever since.”

“Now, Flora,” Agent Stone said, drifting back over to join them. “You shouldn’t fret so much over the boy. He had the wherewithal to stick with SHIELD. That says something about him.”

Coulson was starting to get a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Where was this?” he asked. “The protection detail he was on?”

“Nairobi.”

*****

“Where’s Coulson? I thought he was going to meet us,” River said as she and Clint found a table in the mess hall.

“Yeah, me too.” Clint hooked one foot around the leg of his chair to pull it out and took a seat. “He was talking with Mrs. Andrews when I left. Maybe he had to fill out some extra paperwork or something.”

“Probably,” River agreed. SHIELD did love its forms. 

River picked up her cup of tea and took a long sip, leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed. When she opened them again, Clint was watching her with an amused smile.

“Should I be jealous?” he asked quietly.

“None of that, now,” she replied, sitting back up again.

“I’m just saying. You and that cup of tea look pretty cozy.”

River just raised her eyebrows at him. _Strange base. No flirting._

His sigh was disappointed, though not ill-humored. _I read you. Over._

“So, what is this again?” Clint asked, changing the subject, as he looked at the entrée on the plate he’d been handed in the lunch line.

“Poacher’s pie,” River replied. “Rabbit.”

Clint looked up from his lunch. “Rabbit?”

River’s mouth quirked, amused. “Like that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten.”

They went on missions all over the world, and sometimes they really couldn’t be picky about what they ate. If they each hadn’t had a cast-iron stomach before joining SHIELD, a few bad bouts of food poisoning would have shored up their defenses. In general, weird food was better than no food at all. Clint and River both knew from experience how long they could function without any.

“Well, yeah,” Clint agreed. “I’m just not used to the weird being in the mess hall.”

“It’s good,” River said. “And don’t knock it. Hunting rabbits was how I learned to handle a rifle.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked casually, reaching for his coffee cup. It was the tone he usually aimed for when she dropped a bit of information about her life before SHIELD.

“Yeah,” River said. “When I was a kid.”

*****

_October 1941_  
 _Oban, Scotland_

_She was nine years old, and even the small rifle felt weighty in her hands. Not as much as it had a few weeks ago, though, when Uncle Robert had started to teach her to fire it at paper targets and old cans in the courtyard._

_It hadn’t taken her long to get the hang of handling the weapon, and she had even had time to become a bit blasé about her new skill. A hunter should be dignified, after all, though she had a notion that Uncle Robert and Aunt Elizabeth rather missed the excited whoops she hadn’t quite been able to hold back over her early successes._

_Cans and paper scraps had ceased to be challenging, though. Today they were hunting real game._

_“All right.” Uncle Robert was bent down next to her, hands braced on his knees so that his head was more on a level with hers. Uncle Robert was a big bear of a man, and always had to crouch a bit when teaching her something. “Now, remember, Melody. What does a rabbit warren always have?”_

_She was already scanning the overgrown, brambly strip of land on the edge of old Mrs. Gilchrist’s potato field. “A back door,” she said._

_“That’s right. Now, keep an eye on Rex.” Uncle Robert nodded at the rangy brown dog that was sniffing the ground up ahead. “He’s going to go knocking on the front doors, and when he does the rabbits will run out the back. Look sharp, now.”_

_She nodded eagerly, and she and her uncle began to tramp through the weeds._

_It didn’t take long to spot the first rabbit. She raised the rifle to her shoulder and fired off a shot, but she’d been too hasty and it went wide. The rabbit darted back into its hole, apparently deciding that it would rather deal with the dog than a novice hunter._

_“That’s all right,” Uncle Robert said. “Patience. And if you fire at one running, remember to aim a little in front of the head. Let’s keep going. There’ll be plenty more.”_

_The next rabbit didn’t make it back to its hole. This time, it was Uncle Robert who let out a whoop._

_“Now, that’s my girl! All right. Let’s see how many of these we can clear out for Mrs. Gilchrist.”_

_By the time they started to head back to the house, Uncle Robert had six rabbits in his game bag, all but one hit neatly in the head. She had been completely unable to keep the proud grin off of her face, causing Uncle Robert to laugh and roughly ruffle her hair. They looked up as a squadron of planes flew overhead, on their way to the fueling depot out on the island of Kerrera. Rex ran on ahead of them as they crested the hill just above Mrs. Gilchrist’s house._

_Aunt Elizabeth was working in Mrs. Gilchirst’s kitchen garden, blond hair catching the thin sunlight that filtered through the clouds. She stood up and waved when she saw them. Mrs. Gilchrist, leaning heavily on her cane, came to the open back door of the house. Mrs. Gilchrist was a spidery, grey woman who kept her small farm going with help from her neighbors. She was a master at bartering in that she had a talent for making all parties happy. Like today, letting them use her land so that Melody could practice hunting. Mrs. Gilchrist got her rabbits thinned out, and the meat would be split between them. Even though, here in the country, they weren’t as bad off from rationing as people in the cities, a bit of extra meat was still a welcome addition in anyone’s house._

_“And how did we do?” Aunt Elizabeth asked, brushing off the knees of her trousers._

_Uncle Robert opened his game bag and let the women peer in. Melody bounced lightly on the balls of her feet._

_Mrs. Gilchrist looked over the spoils of the hunt with approval. “And how many of these did you bag?” she asked Melody._

_“All of them,” Melody replied, proudly._

_Mrs. Gilchrist looked at Uncle Robert who confirmed it with a nod._

_“Well, girl,” the old woman said. “If the Jerries ever come calling in Oban, we’ll put you on the front lines.” She straightened up as much as her stooped back would let her. “Do you know how to clean them up?”_

_“That’s our next lesson, if you don’t mind us using your shed,” Uncle Robert said._

_Aunt Elizabeth put her arm around Melody’s shoulders. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go find you a knife.”_

*****

River blinked a little and shook her head. She usually didn’t let herself drift like that, at least not in public. It was being back in Britain, she thought. Talking to Mrs. Andrews with her familiar accent and welcoming manner. She was letting nostalgia sneak up on her.

She glanced at Clint to see if he had noticed. It didn’t look like he had. While that should have been cause for relief, it wasn’t like Clint not to notice that she’d wandered off gathering wool. Moreover, he was staring at something to River’s left with a certain look on his face. The one he usually got when something was pinging his radar as being dangerous.

“Now, what’s with him?” her partner muttered.

Frowning, River looked over to see what he was talking about.

There was a man in a suit, a local agent probably, standing several feet away, staring at her. He was no one that River recognized. He was of average height and build, had dark hair that was going grey, and his blue eyes that were fixed right on her.

That alone was hardly a matter for comment. River didn’t think it was flattering herself to acknowledge that men staring at her was not unusual.

But she had rarely seen one stare at her with the sheer unadulterated hatred that this one was.

River could feel Clint collecting himself to get up from the table and was about to shoot him a warning look. If there was a problem here, it was clearly with her and she would handle it. Before she could, though, the man laid his untouched tray on the closest table, turned, and left. His right leg dragged a bit in his haste.

She had just turned back to Clint to ask him if he knew what the hell that was about when Coulson appeared at their table.

He sat down briefly, speaking in a low voice. 

“You two with me,” he said. “There’s something we need to talk about. Now.”

*****

“I don’t remember him,” River said for the third time, looking at the picture on Coulson’s laptop.

They were in a small briefing room that Coulson had commandeered. As soon as Flora Andrews had mentioned Nairobi, the pieces had clicked into place and Coulson had remembered where he had heard the name _Kessler_ before.

Agent Simon Kessler had been the man who had positively identified the Reaper almost four years ago. The Reaper, aka River Song, had been hired to kill Dr. Jennings, a research scientist being protected by SHIELD. She had succeeded, and in the process had killed two SHIELD agents, Alex Bashir and Monica Duvall. She’d also badly injured five others, including Kessler.

“He engaged you in the stairwell as you were trying to leave,” Coulson supplied. “You fought. You kicked him down two flights. He broke his leg in three places, chipped a couple of vertebrae, and sustained a hairline skull fracture. He was on medical leave for a year, then came back in an administrative capacity.”

River was sitting with one elbow resting on the table, her forehead braced on her hand as she studied the profile on the screen.

“No, I remember _that_ ,” she said. “I just don’t remember _him_. Specifically.” She straightened up, folding her arms as she leaned back. “I was kind of in a hurry to get clear at that point. I wasn’t even sure if I’d killed that guy or not.”

Coulson nodded. There would have been no reason for her to stop and check under those circumstances.

Clint was standing behind River, hands braced on the back of her chair. “So, how worried do we need to be?” he asked.

That was, indeed, the question. As soon as Coulson had put together who Kessler was, he had requested an immediate meeting with Deputy Director Wright and called Fury, who was overseeing a project in San Diego. Fury had not been amused at being woken up in the wee small hours, Pacific Standard Time.

Well, that made two of them. _Dammit_ , Coulson thought, if there was someone on this base who had this kind of history with one of his agents, he should have been informed before they’d even taken off from New York. Unfortunately, no one seemed to know how that bit of information had fallen through the cracks. Wright had hemmed and hawed and coughed, but had had no good explanation. 

The man had quickly transferred all of Agent Kessler’s records to Coulson’s computer. Kessler’s service record showed two commendations for bravery. He held expert-level ranking in mechanics, explosives, and field medicine, and before his injury had held one in hand-to-hand combat as well. He had four citations for exemplary service and had never had so much as a single disciplinary infraction. 

Kessler’s personal information had been interesting reading. It hadn’t taken Coulson more than a few minutes to find the element that was bound to bump this situation from bad to worse.

Coulson tapped a couple of keys, and Agent Kessler’s profile disappeared from the screen. It was replaced by that of a different agent, a young woman this time, with blue eyes and curly brown hair. He watched River’s face closely.

“Now, her,” River said, “I remember.”

“Agent Monica Duvall,” Coulson said. “She was the one who tried to fight you off to give Dr. Jennings time to escape. She died as the result of a snapped spinal column.”

River nodded, face expressionless. 

Coulson watched as Clint looked down at River, concerned, and went to rest one hand on her shoulder. As soon as he brushed her, though, River sat forward in her chair again, apparently to take a closer look at the screen.

“I do remember her,” River repeated. “She…” Her mouth set itself in a thin line. “She was much more brave than she was experienced.”

Coulson nodded. “It was her first assignment,” he said. “She had just finished her training.” He took a deep breath. “Monica Duvall was Simon Kessler’s half-sister. She followed her brother into SHIELD. Apparently he pulled a couple of strings to get her on the assignment with him. He thought it would be good experience since…”

“Since it was supposed to be an easy detail,” River finished.

“And he wanted to keep an eye on her, I suspect.” Coulson reached forward and closed the laptop. He looked at River seriously. “I want you to give Kessler a wide berth while we’re here,” he said. “And if he approaches you, for any reason, I want you to tell me and Barton.”

River blinked at him. “That’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”

“You killed his sister, River,” Coulson said. “I think it’s safe to say that he has a grudge against you.”

 _And I remember some of the things he had to say about you in the debriefing from Nairobi,_ Coulson thought. _The one that they built the kill order off of._

Kessler hadn’t been ambivalent about the fact that he wanted the Reaper dead. There was no reason to think that the intervening four years would have changed his mind. Not that Coulson expected Kessler to take matters into his own hands. The man was still an active SHIELD agent, after all. A mission like Nairobi would have resulted in a battery of psychological evaluations, which he had clearly passed. That didn’t mean that there might not be issues.

Clint seemed to read his mind.

“What exactly do you think he’s going to do, Phil?” Clint asked.

“Probably nothing,” Coulson said. “I just want to be alert to problems.”

The last thing Coulson wanted to do was to create a confrontation where there might not have to be one, and if Clint thought that there was a threat against River, Coulson could virtually guarantee that there would be one. That wouldn’t go over well during a week of what was supposed to be agency-wide goodwill and cooperation.

Coulson acknowledged that it was partly the unexpected aspect of this that had him so tense. Walking into a mission and being confronted with new and unforeseen variables was one thing. That was just how missions went and a good agent learned to roll with it. A visit to a SHIELD base was different. Coulson should have known from the get-go about Kessler’s presence. All of Deputy Director Wright’s apologies and assurances that he would have a preemptive talk with Kessler did little to reassure him. 

Coulson didn’t like feeling like he’d been caught with his pants down.

River was looking back and forth between the two of them, twisted around in her seat so that she could see Clint, too.

“In short, if the other kids are mean to me and call me names, I should run straight to you?” she asked dryly.

“River, could you pretend to take this seriously?” Coulson said.

“I am, Phil. Believe me.” River leaned back sideways in her chair, arms crossed. “But at worst you’re talking about a man who may start shouting at me in public. Think for a minute about some of the things you’ve sent me to face. I think I can handle a few days of potential social awkwardness.”

Coulson nodded. Clint still didn’t look happy, but that was only to be expected. 

With any luck, “socially awkward” was as bad as it would get.

*****

The afternoon and a good portion of the evening were taken up with orientation activities. There was a tour that included the training gyms and courses, the ranges, and the Sussex base’s pride and joy, the simulation center. Five suites of flight and mission simulation chambers had been built into a network of old tunnels at the far, northeastern corner of the base. Part of the conference was to include mock missions with various teams working out of the simulation center.

Other workplaces had company softball teams.

The day wrapped with a presentation by Assistant Deputy Director Griffiths, the orchestrator of the event. Clint, Coulson, and River were in different orientation groups, but River was not at all surprised when Clint fell into step beside her on her way to the main auditorium.

“Everything okay?” he asked right off.

“Everything’s fine,” River replied. 

She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Kessler since lunchtime. Still, the man had been on her mind most of the afternoon.

River stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat as they walked across the quad heading for the Administration Center. Clint did the same, his arm brushing hers as they walked.

“You’ve been thinking about it,” he said. “Nairobi.”

“It’s been rather hard to avoid,” River replied.

“Are you okay?” 

River offered him a half-smile. “I’m not wallowing in angst and self-hatred, if that’s what you mean.”

“So, what’s with the face, then?” he asked.

They walked along silently for a few paces before River answered him.

“Regret, I suppose,” she said.

It wasn’t quite the same thing as guilt. River knew that Clint would understand that. River didn’t feel guilty over Nairobi. She had done her job, and it had happened to be a job that had involved collateral damage. Perhaps she should feel guilty, River thought, but she didn’t. That was the product of a longer than normal life, at least the sort of life she had led. If she let herself feel guilt the way a normal person might, she would have been left mentally nonfunctional a long time ago. 

That didn’t mean that she was incapable of regret. She might not feel guilt over killing Monica Duvall, but she could regret that the young woman had died as a result of her actions. 

“You were seventeen,” Clint said quietly. “You were a kid.”

She could hear the underlying message in his words. _You were young. You were backed into a corner. You must have felt like you had no choice but to take that job._

If only he knew.

“I was never a kid,” River said.

Though Clint looked at her curiously, he let the rest of the walk take place in silence.

*****

_October 1941_  
 _Oban, Scotland_

_Aunt Elizabeth was the one who taught her how to move like a ghost, quickly and quietly so that no one ever knew she was there._

_It was Melody’s favorite game for as far back as she could remember. Playing hide and seek in the garden, in the castle, in the woods, on the shore, even down in the village. Learning how to slip silently along any surface and to climb without making a sound. Then circling back and sneaking up on the person who was hunting for you._

_Ever since the military had set up a presence in Oban, Melody had started honing her skills on sentries and soldiers. It made for a harder game, but that was good. Harder games just meant that you had to get better. Smarter. Harder games were more fun, even if Sergeant Brown had threatened to box her ears the next time he caught her snooping around the supply depot._

_Melody could flit around the old castle like a phantom now, which was how she ended up sitting on a little stone ledge looking down into the kitchen late at night after they’d spent the day at Mrs. Gilchrist’s house. There was a hole up there, high up where the wall met the ceiling, where some old stones and mortar had long since crumbled away. It was a perfect place to spy._

_The kitchen smelled like soap and wood smoke and bannocks. Melody could see Uncle Robert and Aunt Elizabeth down below, sitting together on the battered old sofa that was pulled up close to the hearth. The blackout curtains were drawn and the kitchen was a cave of warmth and firelight. Aunt Elizabeth sat leaning against Uncle Robert as they looked into the fire._

_“She did well today,” Aunt Elizabeth said._

_“That she did,” Uncle Robert said with a little nod._

_Melody smiled and hugged herself a little at the overheard praise. But why, then, did Uncle Robert’s smile look so strange, like he was sad about something?_

_“She always does,” he added. “No doubt the Academy will be well pleased at her progress.”_

_Aunt Elizabeth looked up at him. “Robert…” Her tone was half concerned, half reproving._

_“I know,” he said with the air of a man who had had this conversation many times before. “It’s just, when I think about what we’re preparing her for…”_

_Aunt Elizabeth hugged one arm around his middle. “I know,” she said. “I feel the same way, but we knew what we were signing on for when she was a baby, when the Academy entrusted her to us. All we can do is teach her everything we know, so that when the time comes she’ll be able to beat him.”_

_This time when Melody hugged herself, it was with a feeling far colder than happiness or pride. She knew who they were talking about._

_None of this, in fact, was news to her. Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Robert had always been very honest with her about who she was and where she had come from and what she was meant for._

_They had told her all about_ him. _The Doctor._

_Melody had heard stories about the Doctor for as long as she could remember. They weren’t pleasant stories. The Doctor was the most dangerous creature in the universe. He destroyed worlds on a whim and upset peoples’ lives for his own amusement. He had even wiped out his own race so that he might wreak his havoc unchallenged throughout Time and Space. He was alone and absolute, the last of the Time Lords. According to prophecy, he would destroy the entire universe if no one stood against him. The brave men and women of the Academy were prepared to do that, even though the prophecy said that they risked meeting their undoing as well, on the fields of Trenzalore. The Doctor believed himself to be a god, and his mind was ruled by madness._

_But because even a madman needed company, he kidnapped innocent people and held them in thrall as his own personal playthings. That’s what he had done to Melody’s parents, Amy Pond and Rory Williams. The Doctor had them and would keep them until they were killed or lost or he simply tired of them. That’s what always happened to the Doctor’s companions._

_There was hope, though. That was always part of the story, too. Hope in the form of Melody herself. The Doctor, for all his cunning, had made a very grave error. When Amy and Rory had had a child, the Doctor, out of jealousy and fear, had made them leave her behind on a desolate asteroid called Demon’s Run. The Academy had found her there and taken her in, and they had discovered the reason for the Doctor’s fear. Melody Pond had Time and Space in her blood, just like the Doctor himself did._

_The Academy had given her over to the care of Robert and Elizabeth MacDonald, two of their best Anglican Marines, and like the wise godparents in a fairytale, they were preparing her for her quest. The Academy had hidden Melody and her guardians away in Time on her parents’ world, in her mother’s country, to grow up and to learn._

_Melody learned quickly and she learned well. She liked her lessons, in point of fact. She liked that she could run a little faster, jump a little higher, and swim a little further out from shore than the other children in her school, even the bigger boys. She could walk a four-inch wide beam all the nonchalance of a cat. She could master any language that was set out before her, even the language of the Time Lords themselves. She could take apart numbers and put them back together and use them to see how the universe turned. Now she was learning to fight and to shoot and to hunt._

_So that when she was older—when she was strong enough—she would be able to defeat him._

_Melody silently got up from her perch above the kitchen and stole back to her bedroom. It was very dark upstairs, but she didn’t need to see to find her way. Rex was waiting in the doorway of her little bedroom, and he hopped up onto the bed when Melody curled up under her blankets. She reached down and rested her hand on the dog’s head for comfort._

_She would fight the Doctor. She_ would. _Only she hoped it wouldn’t have to be for a while yet. She was only nine years old and she still had a lot to learn._

_Today she had learned to kill rabbits. One day she would kill the Doctor._

_But not just yet._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, in _Insomniacs R Us_ news, I am up way past my bedtime. (Ah, the joy of getting off work at 9 PM.) But, since I'm awake, I might as well put the time to good use and put up Chapter 3.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has stopped by to read so far!

_December 13, 2008_  
 _Sussex, England_

Sitting at a table on the dais at the front of the auditorium, all Clint could think about was what a great target he must make.

Not that Clint really expected any of the assembled agents sitting in the tiers of seats rising up around them to start shooting. They probably expected him to speak halfway articulately, though, and that was possibly worse. Clint fought the urge to reach up and loosen his tie.

He had never liked being the center of attention. Generally speaking, Clint equated being the center of attention with being in trouble. As a kid it had usually meant being under the scrutiny of an ill-tempered authority figure of some kind. As an adult, of course, he was a covert operative and it was his job to be unseen. If Hawkeye was the center of attention, that attention tended to include bodily harm. 

The one time he hadn’t minded had been when he’d been with Carson’s Carnival. Hell, he’d been a headlining act by the time he’d been fourteen. _The World’s Greatest Marksman,_ they’d called him. Well, circus barking wasn’t exactly known for its subtlety. That had been different, though. With a bow in his hands, he’d been able to completely forget about the lights, the crowd, even the stupid itchy costume.

Of course, it had ultimately led to trouble, too. Barney really hadn’t like playing second fiddle to his baby brother.

This was a different sort of circus production. They were giving their presentation on the Harper Creek mission today. Under the cover of going over his notes again, Clint glanced to his left where Coulson and a member of the support staff were adjusting the microphone on the podium. Another staffer was running the projector screen behind them through a start-up program. Coulson, thank God, was going to be doing most of the talking during their presentation. Clint’s portion shouldn’t take much more than five minutes. River’s was a bit longer.

River was sitting on his right. She glanced at him and leaned over slightly, to all appearances looking at something on the pad of notes in front of him.

“Just imagine them all in their underwear,” she said, very quietly. “I hear that helps.”

Clint glanced up at the semi-circular wall of suits and uniforms in front of them. Most of the people who had come to hear the presentation were going over their handouts or talking quietly among themselves, waiting for things to get started.

“No, not helping,” he said after a moment. “I think that might even be worse, actually.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t look all that repentant, though.

Clint looked over at River again. She looked almost prim in her grey suit with her hair pinned up, and God was that ever a bad direction to allow his brain to stray in when they were sitting in front of eighty people.

“I could imagine you in your underwear,” Clint said under his breath, his head bent over his notes so that no one could see. 

He saw River smile.

About that time, the microphone squawked to life, making half the room wince.

“Sorry, everyone,” Coulson said, dialing down the volume a bit. “I think we’re ready to get started. If someone in the back could hit the lights…? Thank you. We’ve been asked here today to present the details of the Harper Creek Operation earlier this year.”

Clint sank back in his chair a bit, relaxing a little in the darkness. He’d take his turn in the spotlight, but he would be more than happy to get back into the shadows once this was done.

*****

River rolled her neck with a sigh of relief as she waited for the elevator doors to open. While parts of this SHIELD base were as state of the art as anything in New York, other parts (like the lifts) were on the slow side.

The presentation of the Harper Creek mission had been a success. Clint had gotten through his part fine. He’d been as cool as a cucumber (at least outwardly) once he’d had to get up to speak. River hadn’t been surprised in the slightest. She _had_ been a little surprised at how long people had wanted to talk to them afterward. Stone really hadn’t been joking when he’d said that their team was becoming well known within SHIELD. It had taken some time for things to break up.

When the crowd had begun to thin out a bit, they’d found that the support staff had forgotten to take the extra battery pack for the projector with them. River had volunteered to take it to Mrs. Andrews’ office just for the sake of regrouping on her own for a moment.

At last the light over the elevator came on and the doors slid open. River stepped inside and was just about to hit the button for the fourth floor when she heard uneven footsteps in the corridor and a voice calling, “Hold the lift, please!”

River automatically pressed the button to hold the doors. As slow as these lifts were, the person in the corridor could be left waiting for a while.

She began to regret her courtesy when River found herself face to face with Agent Simon Kessler.

Well. Wasn’t that just the way?

They stood staring at each other for a moment before Kessler, jaw clenched tight, stepped onto the elevator with her. River kept her stance relaxed as the doors slid closed and the elevator started to move. She didn’t make anything resembling a threatening move or even alter her expression when Kessler reached out and pressed the “Stop” button, halting the lift between floors.

God, it was a good thing Clint wasn’t here right now.

River wasn’t particularly worried about her safety. Realistically, she had physically beaten Kessler once before, and she’d have no problem doing it now when he still bore the signs of the damage that she’d done to him four years ago. Even if he had a weapon on him, even in quarters as close as these, she had no doubt that she’d win a fight.

But she was pretty sure that wasn’t what Kessler had in mind. He didn’t move. For several moments he didn’t say anything either. He just stared at a point on the wall in front of him.

Finally he laughed.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” he said. “All those people down in that auditorium thinking you’re some kind of hero.”

River turned carefully so that she was facing him. _If you wrong someone, you look that person in the eye._ Uncle Robert had said that once.

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” she said neutrally.

Kessler turned to face her now. “You didn’t remember me, did you?” he said.

“No. I didn’t,” River replied.

“But you know who I am now.”

“I do.”

“And my sister?” Kessler asked. “Monica? Did you remember her?”

River nodded. “Very well.”

Kessler smiled. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.” He stared at the floor for a moment. “She was a good person. She always believed in doing what was right. That’s why she wouldn’t give you Jennings to save herself. She would have been a good agent. Instead, she’s dead and a monster like you is still alive. How do you explain that?”

River shook her head ever so slightly. “I can’t,” she said.

For the most part, she had long ago given up on trying to untangle the _whys_ in her life.

“No. No, I don’t suppose you can.” Kessler turned away and pressed the button, sending the elevator into motion again. It rose a few feet and then stopped, doors opening onto the second floor.

“I hope you burn in hell,” he said calmly before stepping off the elevator and slowly disappearing down the corridor.

River waited until the doors slid closed again before she let herself sag back a bit against the wall.

“It’s quite possible,” she said as the elevator carried her higher.

*****

Coulson was starting to like the Sussex base less and less. On the other hand, there was a part of him that felt absolutely celebratory over the fact that River hadn’t completely blown off his directive regarding Kessler.

When River had returned to the emptying auditorium and quietly told Coulson that she needed to talk to him and Clint in private, he had known that it wasn’t going to be tidings of comfort and joy. Coulson had made their apologies to the agents and staffers who still remained and sequestered the three of them somewhere where they wouldn’t be interrupted or overheard. 

His room in the guest barracks was private, even if it was a tight fit for three people. Coulson sat on his bunk, River was perched sideways in the desk chair, and Clint paced, growing increasingly agitated at the fact that he couldn’t take more than three steps in any given direction. 

Coulson took River through her conversation with Kessler one more time.

“You’re sure he didn’t threaten you?” Coulson said.

River pinched the bridge of her nose. “Unless he’s somehow gained dominion over the afterlife, no he didn’t threaten me.”

“All right,” Coulson said. “I’ll talk to Deputy Director Wright and--”

“Why bother?” Clint interrupted. “We’ve done the song and dance that Fury sent us here to do. Let’s just pack up and head home. We can be out of here in an hour. We’ll head back to London--”

“All right, both of you just stop.”

Clint and Coulson both turned to look at River. She had ditched her shoes, resting her stocking feet on a chair rung, and she’d unpinned her hair so that it fell in a ponytail. It was rather at odds with River’s proper grey suit, squared shoulders, and determined expression. It was, Coulson thought, that odd juxtaposition of old and young that River so often wore.

“There’s no need to go running to Wright,” River said to Coulson. She turned her gaze on Clint. “And we’re not running away. Look, you asked me to tell you if Kessler approached me. I’ve done that. He ran into me by accident, he vented his spleen a bit, end of story. In a couple of days, we’ll be gone, but this is Kessler’s base. I think I’ve done enough to the man without making his boss call his professionalism into question, don’t you think?”

“Well, maybe it needs to be.” Clint shook his head. “I don’t get it, River. Why are you defending this guy?”

“I’m not,” River said. “I just recognize a basic fact that you two seem incapable of acknowledging. Kessler’s not the villain of this piece, I am. I killed Monica Duvall. I killed Agent Bashir and Dr. Jennings. I injured Kessler badly enough that he’ll never work in the field again. Look at the matter objectively. If you were in his place, you’d feel the same about me.”

Coulson glanced over at Clint, who gaped at River for a moment before his mouth snapped shut in a mulish line. “Fuck objectivity,” Clint said.

“I have to agree with Clint,” Coulson said. “I admire that you want to own what you did back then, River. I do. But you’re SHIELD now. Fury himself approved your recruitment and pushed it through the Council. That should be a good enough endorsement for anyone.

“So, we’ll stay if that’s what you want, and I won’t go to Wright unless Kessler does something else,” Coulson continued. “But, River, don’t ask us not stand by you. We’ve all been through too much together for that. All right?”

River still didn’t look one-hundred percent convinced, but she nodded.

Clint seemed resigned to being outvoted, but he had a caveat.

“I think we should stick together from here on in,” he said. “I’ll go with you to your classes and seminars and shit. The sky won’t fall if I don’t stick to their schedule.”

River’s smile tried hard to be wry. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t think you’re going to be sleeping on my floor.”

“We’ll negotiate that one later.”

In spite of the grim circumstances, Coulson rolled his eyes.

*****

Clint left to go see Mrs. Andrews about getting his schedule changed to match River’s. River watched him go with a fond smile.

She had agreed to it more for Clint’s benefit than her own. River knew that he needed to feel like he was taking proactive measures at the moment. Clint was protective. It was a quality that had driven River absolutely crazy back in the beginning. “White knight complex” she’d called it, and she’d called him a few ear-curling names during their first year of partnership because of it. 

Eventually River had figured out that it wasn’t because he thought she was weak or that he felt like he had to look out for the girl on the team. It was just a fundamental part of his personality. He was just as apt to throw himself into the path of a bullet for Coulson as he was for her.

So she’d let him escort her through the remainder of this conference. In three years, River had learned to compromise on some things. Of course, so had Clint.

Once he was gone, though, River slumped a bit in her chair, idly fiddling with her earring. This mess with Kessler might be no more than she deserved, but she couldn’t help but wish that the man had taken early retirement from SHIELD so that she’d never had to cross his path again. It wasn’t that she shied away from facing up to what she had done, but she rather wished that Clint and Coulson didn’t have the blatant reminder right in front of them.

She glanced over at Coulson, who was still sitting on the edge of his bunk, leaning forward now with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Anything else you want to get off your chest, kid?” he asked.

“No,” River said automatically. Coulson just waited patiently, not speaking. River sighed. “Isn’t it weird for you?” she asked. “Defending someone like me from a SHIELD agent?”

The look Coulson gave her in response was almost reproving.

“Do you remember the night we caught you in Sofia?”

River snorted a laugh. “I vaguely recall,” she said dryly. 

She’d been sick, exhausted from spending months trying to stay a step ahead of a former employer, and distracted by the hired guns the man had sent to harry her. Clint had brought her down with embarrassing ease, palming a knock-out dart and waiting until she wasn’t looking to inject her with it. River had slid into unconsciousness, fighting every inch of the way. She had come around in a SHIELD safe house in the custody of two strange men, and River had eyed them with dread wondering what they had planned for her.

They’d had orders to kill her. Instead they had offered her help and protection. River had known then that she was probably dealing with crazy people.

“It was a rather memorable evening,” River added.

Coulson smiled. “Do you remember, you told me that there were no such things as ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’? You said that SHIELD was just as capable of being the bad guy as the people we went after. The thing is, you were right. “ 

When River raised her eyebrows, Coulson just shrugged. “We work toward good ends, but we do it by living and working in the grey area,” he continued. “SHIELD isn’t black and white. Neither are you. We knew that when we decided to recruit you. I told you back then that you could use your skills to help people. To be honest, I had my doubts about whether or not you would. But you have, and you’ve done it very well. Bottom line is I don’t really care about what you were. That’s the past. I care about who you are now. And yes, I’ll defend you even against other SHIELD agents if I have to.”

River didn’t answer right away. She stared down at her lap for a long moment. When she looked up again, she knew that her expression wasn’t as controlled at it ordinarily might be. But then, this was Coulson. He was one of the two people who routinely got to see behind the mask.

“Thanks, Phil,” she said.

Coulson nodded and clapped his hands on his knees. “So, are we good?” he asked. “I don’t have to hug you or anything to convince you of my sincerity, do I?”

River knew that the face she made at him was pretty damn priceless. “Do we hug?”

“No, but I’m sure that, statistically speaking, stranger things have happened. Probably.”

River laughed and shook her head. “I think we’ll get by without it.”

*****

Clint did have to sidestep a couple of awkward questions, but Mrs. Andrews obligingly gave him a new schedule.

“Really, Agent Barton. You can’t get by without your partner for a few days?” she asked, looking at him over the rims of her glasses.

Clint shrugged with a mild smile. “She’s good at elbowing me awake in lectures before I start snoring.”

Mrs. Andrews just gave him a tolerant look as she handed him the new printouts.

River had two sessions that afternoon. One was a lecture on analyzing satellite photography that Clint had already sat through, and it didn’t prove to be any more interesting as a repeat. The second was a stint on the base’s ropes course, which he hadn’t been scheduled to do until Monday. That one was actually fun, even if Clint did find himself keeping his senses alert for possible trouble.

None came, though. By the time they were headed back from the ropes course, Clint had relaxed his guard enough that he didn’t even flinch when Agent Stone came walking up behind them, clapping one hand on his shoulder and one on River’s.

“Boy, I saw you on the course back there. Were you sired by a trapeze artist or something?”

“Nah,” Clint said. “Learned to play poker from a couple of them, though. I belonged to a circus for a while when I was a kid,” he explained when Stone raised an eyebrow.

“He did,” River said when Stone turned a questioning look on her. “I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve seen pictures.”

“All right, then. From one freak show to another,” Stone said, making Clint snort appreciatively. “Listen, we’re taking a bunch of people to the pub in the village this evening. Get a meal that didn’t come off of a steam tray. If you want to come along, the meet-up is in the lobby of the Administration Center at 1800. Tell Coulson he’s invited, too. Just be sure to wear your civvies. Enough rumors fly around the village that we’re out here secretly running the country or experimenting on aliens or some such. Too many people in suits or uniforms and you can see the locals get twitchy.”

“Do you want to go?” Clint asked River after Stone veered off to yell at some poor new recruit about how shoddily he was packing equipment into the back of a truck. 

“It might be nice to get off the base for a little while,” River said. “Besides,” she added, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a beer after the last couple of days.”

“I hear that,” Clint said. “We’ll have to try to drag Phil along. Knowing him, he probably needs one more than the two of us put together.”

Coulson declined though, citing work that he needed to get done. There were still enough agents gathered in the lobby at 1800 hours that Agent Stone commandeered a small convoy of cars from the base motor pool to ferry everyone into Upper Beeding. Clint and River rode with Agents Murray and Park through the rainy winter evening.

Upper Beeding’s high street was webbed over with Christmas lights and the pub, the King’s Arms, had a tree set up on the bar. The tree looked like it had seen better days, but someone had clearly had fun decorating it with coasters and corks. There were a handful of locals there, all of whom looked up curiously at the crowd that came filing through the door. 

“Evening, Lewis,” Agent Stone called to the barman. “Mind if we take over the corner?”

“Help yourself, Peter,” the man replied, waving to the back corner of the pub. “One of your boys is already back there. Been here most of the day, in fact.”

Clint felt a little flashing red light start to go off in the back of his head just as Agent Stone said, “Kessler! What are you doing here?”

Well, fuck.

The other agents were starting to sort out seats at the tables. Clint could see River tense up slightly at Stone’s words. They both watched Stone round the far side of the bar, approaching the man in the rumpled suit who was hunched over on the stool.

Yeah, it looked like Kessler had been there for a while, and had been using the time to put a dent in the pub’s liquor inventory.

“Simon?” Stone said, a bit more carefully this time. 

Clint watched Kessler squint up at Stone, then got unsteadily up off of his stool, attempting to straighten his coat and tie.

“Peter,” he said. “Oh, Deputy Director Wright called me in for a talk earlier. He told me to take a few days off. He said I seemed stressed, but I think he was mostly afraid that I’d make a scene in front of our guests. So I came here.” Kessler reached out a hand to steady himself on the back of a barstool. “ _Agent_ Song,” he said. “I simply can’t escape you, can I?”

Stone looked back over his shoulder at Clint and River. The other agents at the tables were starting to cast curious looks at what was happening at the bar. River had stepped up beside Clint, and it took all of his willpower to keep from reaching out and pushing her back.

Kessler seemed to suddenly notice that they had an audience. 

“You are aware of who she is, aren’t you?” he said to the others. “And you, Lewis? It can’t be every day you have a mass murderer in here.”

By now, River had wrapped her hand around Clint’s wrist, a gesture that he recognized as being one of restraint rather than a need for reassurance. “Maybe we should go,” she said quietly.

“Kessler, that’s a fellow agent you’re talking about,” Stone said severely.

Kessler laughed.

“‘Fellow agent’? No, my ‘fellow agents’ were people I lost in Nairobi. Bashir. Monica. Agents that she killed.” Kessler took an unsteady step in River’s direction. “Even if you don’t go by _Reaper_ anymore. Ever since you got _recruited_.”

At this, his bleary gaze landed on Clint.

“Brilliant job, by the way,” he said. “I handed her to SHIELD. You were supposed to end her and you bollixed it.” Something very ugly crept into Kessler’s expression. “Or maybe you didn’t. I mean, she’s young and pretty and now she owes you. Can’t be an all bad deal I suppose.” 

Kessler knocked away the restraining hand Agent Stone tried to put on his shoulder, staggering a little bit closer.

“You know, you’re worse than she is,” he said to Clint, face growing darker. “You and Coulson both. You were supposed to put her down, and instead you bring her home? So, how does that work, Song? I mean, do you fuck them at the same time or take it in turn?”

Clint never had any real memory of charging Kessler. One moment he was still several feet away. The next he was almost close enough to take the man apart, except that there was a small but stubbornly sturdy roadblock in his path. 

River had one hand fisted in his shirt, using her forearm to push him back.

“Walk away,” she said, firmly. “Right now. Just walk away.”

She more or less had to shove him backward out the front door of the pub. The locals, he half-noticed, gave them a very wide berth along their way. Clint kept his eyes on Kessler, half hoping that the man would make a threatening move and give him an excuse to meet him halfway. Hell, at this point, he didn’t even care about the protocol of who threw the first punch. Kessler was being hauled back toward the kitchen doors by Agent Stone, though, past the crowd of very uncomfortable looking agents.

Clint allowed River to push him outside into the cold and damp, the chilly rain coming down a bit heavier now. Once they were outside, River spun him around, grabbed him by the arm and marched him away from the pub’s doorway. 

“What the hell, Clint?” she asked.

“‘What the hell?’” he repeated, staring down at her incredulously. “You were in there. You heard that.”

“Yes, I heard it, and you and I both know that it’s bullshit.” They hadn’t even had time to take off their jackets and River zipped hers back up against the chill. “Coulson would know that it’s bullshit, too. _Fury_ would know that it’s bullshit. Hell, half the people in there know that it’s bullshit. And if any of them do believe it? Who the hell cares?”

 _I care_ , Clint wanted to say. But emotions were running high enough that he was afraid he’d say too much if he got started now.

Clint knew that Kessler had been slinging shit just for the sake of slinging it, but he had still managed to hit a half-exposed nerve. Rationally, he knew that River would never sleep with him out of a sense of obligation or gratitude. But, well, Clint had never claimed to be a rational person one hundred percent of the time, and every once in a great while he worried. Worried that maybe her motivations were based on _quid pro quo_ , even if she wasn’t aware of it. And if he had taken advantage of that, what did that make him?

Sure, she had made the first move, but he hadn’t hesitated to meet her halfway, embracing the change in their relationship with enthusiasm. He’d never really questioned why she’d decided to take him back to her hotel room in Chicago after months of ebbing and flowing tension. He’d been too busy juggling an overwhelming sense of relief and what had felt like the very real possibility that he’d suffocate if he had to stop touching her.

His doubt was a rare thing. Really, when it came to personal relationships, he knew that River Song didn’t do a damn thing River Song didn’t want to do. But it was there. And then somewhere over this past year, Clint had gone and fallen in love with her, which just complicated the situation all the more.

Clint wondered how much of what was going through his head was showing on his face right now. Too much, if River’s expression was anything to go by. She was watching him intently and when he looked away she reached up and firmly turned his head back so that he was facing her again.

“Hey.” River resettled her hand against the side of his face. She dipped her head a bit to catch his eye as if wanting to make absolutely sure she had his attention. “You have _never_ taken advantage of me,” she said. “I’ve never given you anything that I didn’t give freely, because I wanted to. You know that, don’t you?”

He sighed, some of the tension bleeding out of his posture. “Yeah.” He brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. “Yeah, I know.” He tightened his grip slightly. “Kessler’s a menace,” he added.

River shrugged with something that tried and largely failed to be a smile.

“Kessler’s drunk,” she said. “And, let’s face it, he has every right to hate me. I’m just sorry he’s dragged you into it, too.”

“I’d just love to know how he’s been passing his Psych evaluations.” Clint unconsciously tugged her a little closer. “Something to have Coulson add to his list.”

Clint had been willing to cut Kessler a little slack given what he’d been through, but that was officially exhausted.

River nodded, but said, “Let’s just lay low, get through the next few days, and then we can go home.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re actually looking forward to getting back stateside, huh?”

“What can I say? It’s grown on me.”

The door of the pub gave a telltale rattle as someone pushed down on the inside handle, and Clint and River quickly moved away from each other. Agent Murray stepped out, catching sight of them.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

River nodded, businesslike. “Fine,” she said.

Murray looked as if he really wished he had a protocol outline for this situation, but seemed game to try to wing it. He also, Clint noticed, was eying River with a new wariness and was keeping a respectable distance. He was sure River noticed it as well, even if she gave no outward sign.

“Listen, Stone’s taken Kessler back to the kitchen to work on sobering him up,” he said. “If you two want to come back in...I mean, it’s bloody freezing out here.”

River shook her head. “I think we’re going to call it a night. Find our way back to base.”

Murray quickly nodded in agreement, looking relieved. “Can’t say I blame you for that one,” he said. “Here.” He fumbled about in his pocket for a moment and pulled out a set of keys which he tossed to River. “Go ahead and take the car back. Park and I will catch a ride with one of the others.”

“Thanks,” River said. When Murray retreated into the pub and they were alone outside again, River threaded one arm through Clint’s. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

*****

It took Clint and River an hour to make the five-mile drive back to the base.

River took full blame for that.

River had kept up a calm façade in front of Kessler and even in front of Clint, but inside she was so angry and shaken that she felt like her very bones were humming. Not over what Kessler had said about her, but the fact that he’d apparently decided to include her partner and handler in his hatred of her.

He’d called her a monster before, and it couldn’t be denied that she had made a victim of Kessler four years ago. River could have told Kessler that there was a very fine line between being a victim and becoming the monster, and he was starting to flirt with it. 

She had stepped over that line a long time ago. Her previous regeneration especially had been a low point. Looking back, it disturbed River how little, good or bad, she had been capable of feeling in the years when she had gone by _Mel Pond_. She had felt a vague impatience with and distrust of the Academy, a determination to complete her mission, and some frustration that it was taking so long. That had been about it.

Becoming River Song had been a jolt. Unlike Mel Pond, River Song had felt perhaps too much. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion. Abandonment. And strongest of all had been the anger. She’d been angry at the Academy for taking her, at Robert and Elizabeth for lying to her, at Amy and Rory for losing her and then leaving her behind once they’d found her again, and at the Doctor for forcing her to face up to the truth of what her life had been. She’d been angry at herself both for saving the Doctor’s life and for blindly believing, for so many years, that he needed to die.

River Song had spent the next several years trying to prove to herself that believing in anything was foolish and dangerous. It didn’t matter what side she fell on because “good” and “bad” all tied back to what a person believed in. They had no real meaning. So, she had taken jobs with no care for who she worked for or what their motives were, and a lot of people had died at her hands, some deservedly, some not so much. Looking back, River could see now that she had been in a slow downward spiral, that she had spent her first five years as River Song playing a long, drawn-out game of suicide-by-cop.

River glanced over at Clint in the passenger seat. The only hitch had been that the cop hadn’t played along. Not only had Clint not killed her, he’d saved her life. He’d worked hard to make her see that she was as much light as she was dark.

Clint didn’t know what it was like to be the monster. Sure, he had done and would continue to do morally questionable things in SHIELD’s name. Their jobs required them to be able to lie and kill and to do things that average citizens weren't prepared to do. But he wasn’t nor had he ever been any kind of monster. The fact that Kessler had made Clint feel, even for a moment, that he’d obligated her into taking part in a relationship that she didn’t want rankled. 

Impulsively, River turned the car off of the dark country road onto a narrow side lane along a fenced pasture. Clint looked at her questioningly as she killed the engine.

“River, what--”

She cut him off by the simple, but effective, means of crawling into his lap and kissing him. Blame emotions running high. Blame the fact that they had a few minutes of privacy. Any sheep in that vicinity would have gotten one hell of a show if they’d been able to see through fogged windows.

Time lost all real sense of meaning. It was only when they ran out of breath that they managed to peel themselves away from each other for a moment. 

“We should get back to base,” Clint said, looking like he’d rather say anything else. His hands were framing her face, fingers threaded through her hair. “Coulson will have a heart attack if the others get back before we do, once he finds out what happened. ”

River nodded. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” She reluctantly maneuvered herself out of Clint’s lap and back into the driver’s seat. “Assuming he doesn’t know about it already.”

“True.” River heard Clint draw in and blow out a deep breath, trying to come down again. “Hey, River?” he said.

River looked up from turning the key in the ignition. “Yeah?”

“I…” River couldn’t decide if Clint looked apprehensive (though she couldn’t imagine about what) or if he was about to lean over and start kissing her again. After a second, he just shook his head with a tiny smile. “Nothing. Never mind.”

River wasn’t sure what to make of that, but when he didn’t crack under her short, measured look, she just returned the smile and pulled out onto the road again.

*****

Coulson was _this_ close to dialing Clint’s and River’s cell phones when there was a knock on the door of his guest quarters.

“Where the hell have you two been?” he said as he stood aside to let them come in. “Stone called me thirty minutes ago. It doesn’t take an hour to drive out here from that village.”

Agent Stone had called, apparently after he’d gotten Kessler reasonably corralled, and given Coulson the highlights of what had happened in the King’s Arms. River and Clint filled in the details, though neither of them looked thrilled about having to share them.

Coulson couldn’t blame them.

“I want you both to know, I’ve called this in to Fury,” Coulson said. “He’s incommunicado at the moment, but I’ve left him the relevant details. I’ve lost confidence in Wright to contain this situation. No, this has gone beyond being a personal problem,” he added when he saw River open her mouth to say something. “Kessler is unstable and his CO isn’t handling it, so I’m going over his head. As far as I’m concerned, this has become a matter of safety, Kessler’s included. End of story.”

River waited for him to finish and blinked innocently. “I was just going to say that’s a good idea.”

“Of course you were.”


	4. Chapter 4

_December 14, 2008_  
 _Sussex, England_

The morning after the incident at the King’s Arms, there was a seminar conducted by the Psych Department that all of the conference attendees were required to attend. The topic was “trust.”

It didn’t go over well.

It probably would have been a bust anyway, Clint thought. For one thing, trust exercises were lame. For another, asking field agents who got shot at on a routine basis to trust relative strangers even if they did work for the same organization was going to be hit or miss.

And for another, after what had happened last night, no one was really feeling the kumbayas. 

The seminar ended early with one of the psychologists being near tears. Clint would have felt bad except for the part where he didn’t really give a rat’s ass.

“What’s up this afternoon?” Clint asked as they walked out of the auditorium, rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck.

“Just the group simulations,” River said.

“Thank God.” It would just be him, River, and Coulson in a room together for a couple of hours. Clint could handle that. It would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than being out here, where he felt like every other person was giving them the side-eye.

It wasn’t paranoia. River noticed it too. Talon had arrived on the Sussex base as part of a team of heroes. Now, thanks to Kessler’s reminder, it seemed like all they could see was the Reaper.

“I think we’re bigger news now than we were when we arrived,” River said quietly as they walked along. She actually sounded amused.

Clint cast a sidelong look at her. “This is funny now?”

“A dark sense of humor is a healthy substitute for angst and frustration.”

Clint snorted. “You’ve got me there.”

“I wonder if Coulson has heard back from Fury yet,” she added after a moment.

“I’m sure he’ll tell us as soon as he does.”

*****

“Hill says that Fury’s still out of communications range except for emergencies. This isn’t classified as an emergency,” Coulson said as the three of them walked across the base to the simulation center.

River detected a distinct note of irritation in Coulson’s voice and wondered if that classification had been Hill’s rather than his own.

“I’m sure he’ll get the message soon,” she said. “Fury’s never incommunicado for long. Unless it’s the World Security Council he’s needing to get back to.”

They approached the entrance to the simulation center, a small, square, metal-sided building. The temperature had dropped during the day and a few snowflakes were falling, disappearing as soon as they hit the ground. Mrs. Andrews met them at the door of the center, a clipboard in her hands.

“Come in! Get in out of the cold,” she said, holding open the door while they filed into the building.

The above-ground entrance to the simulation suites was sparsely furnished. There was a desk and a pair of chairs to one side where Mrs. Andrews had set up her workstation. On the opposite wall was a large screen showing a schematic of the simulation chambers below, the five wings spreading in a fan. Small green lights showed which ones were in active use. The back wall was little more than two wide-open steel doors. River could see the concrete staircase that would take them down to the chambers.

Mrs. Andrews consulted her clipboard, checking a couple of things off. “Now, you three are in Room 6. It’s at the far end of the Corridor B.” She tapped the appropriate room on the screen. “It’s easy to find—just follow the tunnel almost all the way to the end. The simulation will start in about twenty minutes, and they want everyone to be settled into their places at least five minutes before we get started. The countdown clocks are going in each active chamber. There’s also a phone in each room, so just ring up to me if you have a problem.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Andrews. I’m looking forward to seeing what the new equipment can do,” Coulson said. 

“Oh, it’s state of the art, I assure you, Agent Coulson,” Mrs. Andrews said, handing out their pass keys. “Now, you can go on down. Oh, but Agent Song? Can I steal you for a few minutes?”

River saw Clint and Coulson tense up slightly. Even Mrs. Andrews seemed to notice.

“I’m a little embarrassed, really,” Mrs. Andrews ventured. “Somehow your R115-A form got misplaced. I just need you to fill out a new one. I really am very sorry.”

“That’s all right. Guys? It’s fine,” River said. “I’ll be down in a minute. Save me a good seat.”

Clint looked like he was about to object, but Coulson clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the stairwell. “We’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes,” he said.

Once they had disappeared down the stairs, Mrs. Andrews shook her head with a smile and moved over to her desk. “They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” she said, picking up a new clipboard with yellow form affixed to it.

“It’s been a rather odd few days for us,” River said, accepting the clipboard and a pen and taking a seat. 

Mrs. Andrews sat down at the desk, opening the bottom drawer and pulling out a thermos. 

“Yes. I heard about what happened in the village last night,” she said, pouring tea into a paper cup. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

River glanced up from the form. Mrs. Andrews was holding a second paper cup out to her, giving her a questioning look over her glasses.

“I’m fine,” River said. She took the cup of tea with a half-smile. It felt a little strange to have someone who wasn’t Clint or Coulson enquire after her wellbeing. Not bad, just strange. “I’m not sure what you heard, but nothing really happened.”

“No,” Mrs. Andrews agreed. “Words can be bad enough, but I’m still glad that things didn’t come to blows.” She sipped her tea. “Agent Kessler is…well, he’s a singularly troubled young man.”

River noncommittally took a drink of her tea and filled in a few more blanks on her form.

“He’s talked to me a great deal since he’s been posted here,” Mrs. Andrews said, turning to her computer and idly typing in some data. “I’m not sure why. I suppose it’s because he doesn’t have anyone else. No other close family. No particular friends. It’s rather sad, really.”

“Yes,” River said, because it seemed that some sort of response was necessary. “I suppose it is.”

That had been her not so long ago, after all. It wasn’t anymore. She had Clint and Coulson, now. Of course, Amy and Rory were out there somewhere, possibly on this very island even as she spoke. But shared (if scrambled) genetics aside, Amy and Rory weren’t family in the ways that mattered. 

“You’re very lucky,” Mrs. Andrews said. “Not everyone is so fortunate to find the sort of friends you seem to have found in Agent Coulson and Agent Barton.” Mrs. Andrews glanced over with a bit of a smile. “Agent Barton in particular. That young man adores you, you know.”

It was a handy thing that she had the tea. River took a drink to avoid replying. She wasn’t really accustomed to discussing her relationship with Clint. Nature, habit, and survival instinct made her a private person, for one. For another, she’d really never had anyone to discuss it _with_. There was a small handful of people at SHIELD she was on friendly terms with, but not to the point of sharing anything resembling close confidences.

Well, she could try to discuss it with Coulson, but it would probably just weird him out.

She had never tried to put a label on what existed between her and Clint beyond that of “partners” because, really, that covered everything that need to be covered. And while she didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time attempting to examine her feelings toward him, she knew deep down that they went beyond “friends with benefits.” River had never been much of a romantic, but she had been in love before. She was seventy-six years old. Just given the law of averages, it was bound to have happened at some point. 

Melody II had met William Pemberton at Oxford, a long time ago. He had been a sweet boy, a fellow student studying to become a solicitor. Will had wanted to marry her and she hadn’t been at all opposed to the idea. It had been the 1950s, after all. It was just what people did. But the reality of her situation had checked her. Even setting aside her abnormalities, she had had a duty to the Academy that came before everything. She never would have been able to be the kind of wife he’d wanted. So she had let him go.

She actually _had_ gotten married during her third incarnation. That era had been the one and only time during her training the Academy had pulled her off world and out of her own time stream. For ten years she hadn’t had her handlers constantly looking over her shoulder. She’d gotten married because…why not? She’d loved David well enough and there’d been the escape hatch of knowing that sooner or later the Academy would pull her home again. There had been no real commitment involved. To say that that marriage had been tempestuous would have been an understatement. It hadn’t even lasted two years.

River knew it sounded trite and sentimental to say that it was different with Clint, but it was. For the first time in her life, she was with someone she might have a chance of staying with. Her ability to regenerate was gone. It wasn’t a given that she’d outlive him significantly. The Academy was in her past. Her duty to them was done. 

She hadn’t worked up the resolve to raise the subject with Clint, ask him to quantify it. She knew that there was _something_ strong between them. She could feel it in the way she could walk into any situation in the field and know that she was safe because he was watching. It was in the ever growing collection of little notes and letters that he left for her and that she carefully kept in a box in her closet. It was in the way that the awful sense of loneliness, once her constant companion, was becoming a distant memory.

They never talked about it, though. To hear Mrs. Andrews make such a casual reference to it left River a bit at a loss for a response.

She could see Mrs. Andrews throwing curious glances at her, no doubt anticipating some sort of response. River tapped the point of her pen on her R115-A form. “Remind me again. How far back do they want training history?” she asked.

“Three years.”

River bent back over her form, for the first time oddly glad that she had SHIELD paperwork to keep her busy.

*****

“Okay. I’m officially crazy, right?” Clint said as he and Coulson walked along Corridor B to their assigned simulation room.

He’d stood up there and stared at Mrs. Andrews like she might pull a gun or sprout fangs at any given moment. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Coulson replied. “It’s been a weird week.”

“Thank God it’s just about over,” Clint said. “I vote that next time Fury wants to attend a conference, we find a nice warlord in some hellhole that needs to be taken out instead.”

Coulson snorted with amusement.

The brightly lit tunnel followed a slight curve around to the left. Numbered doors opened off of it to either side, some of which were casually propped open given that it was about twenty minutes until the exercise was to begin. In contrast to the seminar this morning, the voices Clint could hear sounded good humored. 

That made sense. SHIELD simulation chambers were basically state-of-the-art video games for grown-ups. 

“We’re down on the end?” Clint asked.

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be much further down--”

“Coulson!” a voice said behind them. Coulson stopped and Clint turned to see an older, dark-skinned man leaning out of one of the open doors. “I thought that was you.”

“Alikakos. Good to see you again,” Coulson said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m sorry I’ve missed you up until now.”

Clint hovered on the periphery of the conversation as the two other men talked and cast a glance back up the corridor the way they’d come. 

No sign of River yet.

*****

River signed off on her completed form and handed the lot back to Mrs. Andrews. “Thank you, dearie,” she said. “Now, just give me a minute to input this and you’ll be all set.”

Long years of training kept River from fidgeting impatiently while Mrs. Andrews transferred data over to the computer. A quick check of her internal clock assured her that she’d still make it downstairs in time.

There was a sudden gust of cold air as the door to the facility opened and someone came in. 

“Mrs. Andrews,” a by-now-familiar voice said, “I need you to--”

The voice broke off and River turned to find Agent Kessler standing behind her. He was looking at her like he had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“We’re just having a bit of a chat,” Mrs. Andrews said. “Agent Kessler, aren’t you supposed to be…resting?”

Kessler ignored Mrs. Andrews. His eyes were still fixed on River. They were bloodshot, no doubt from his excesses last evening, and now River was certain she saw something like madness flickering in them.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Kessler said to River. “You’re supposed to be down below with the others.”

*****

By the time Coulson managed to extract himself from conversation with Agent Alikakos, it was getting close to start time for the simulation exercise.

“We’re going to have to buzz up to Mrs. Andrews and have her send River down,” Coulson said as they approached the door to their simulation chamber. “She’ll just have to finish the paperwork when we’re done.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, automatically glancing back up the corridor again. Not that he could really see much around the curved wall. “What do you think they’re--”

The rest of Clint’s question was lost in the explosion that blew the chamber doors open and threw him and Coulson into the corridor wall.

*****

The timing was almost biblical. One second, River and Kessler were staring at each other, the next a loud boom echoed up the stairway, shaking the entire small building.

River, Mrs. Andrews, and Kessler all froze.

“What the hell was--” River was interrupted when two louder explosions came almost on top of each other and the overhead lights in the office died. The emergency lights along the walls cut on, alarms began to go off, and the schematic of the tunnels began to flash with red lights. 

River saw, with dawning horror, that the first flashing light was on the simulation chamber where she, Clint, and Coulson were assigned. After a second, red lights began to flash along the length of the corridor.

“No,” River heard Kessler say behind her. “No, that’s not supposed to happen.”

“Agent Kessler, what—Good Lord.” Mrs. Andrews coughed as smoke started to roll up the stairs and into the office. “What have you done?”

River rounded on Kessler. The man was staring at the tunnel schematic with something that looked like utter resignation. River didn’t say anything to him. Even if there were time to shake an explanation out of him, she wasn’t interested in what he had to say. It was enough to know that what was happening right now was his doing.

Agent Simon R. Kessler. Expert level in explosives.

And Clint and Coulson had been at ground zero.

River turned her back on Kessler. Mrs. Andrews was staring at the board, her hand clutched at the collar of her blouse. 

“Get out of here,” River told her. The small office was rapidly filling with smoke. “Go outside and call for help. Now.”

Without waiting to see whether or not she was obeyed, River plunged down the stairs into the thickening smoke.

*****

Clint came to choking on a breath that burned all the way down into his lungs.

He automatically rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up on all fours. Alarms were blaring in the corridor and all he could immediately see was swirling grey and flicking orange.

Oh, shit. Oh, _shit_.

Clint’s hands hit Coulson while he was still trying to squint through the smoke. Smacked him right in the face, by the feel of it and by the indignant sound Coulson made.

“Ph--” Clint broke off, coughing. “Phil, come on. We have to get out of here.”

The doors had been blown almost all the way off the simulation chamber they had been about to enter and the interior was in flames. _Jesus_ , Clint thought. If they’d been inside, there would have been nothing left. 

Not that their situation out here was all that good. Coulson was struggling up to his knees. Clint forced his bearings to get their shit together and looked to their left, up the corridor toward the staircase. What he saw made his stomach clench.

The explosion had brought half of the ceiling down. The way back to the stairs was blocked.

Clint just hoped to God that River had still been up in Mrs. Andrews’ office when whatever the hell had just happened had happened.

*****

Being in the tunnel was like being in a sideways chimney. It was full of smoke and acerbic fumes from all the burning plastic and insulation. River could see flames licking at the walls and along the ceiling.

The first person she found was Agent Murray, who was stumbling half-blind toward the staircase. River grabbed him. 

“Have you seen Barton and Coulson?” River shouted over the alarms. 

“What?” Murray squinted at her. “No. I’m with Park. She’s right--” Murray looked back over his shoulder. “She was right behind me. Where--”

Someone pushed past River from behind. 

“I’ll get Park,” Kessler said. “Alikakos and Fletcher are down here, too.”

So, four others in the tunnel. River grabbed Murray and headed for the stairs. 

River hauled Murray though the office and outside. Kessler, who was helping Park, was close behind. Mrs. Andrews was waiting to meet them, mobile clutched tight in her hands. 

“Help’s coming,” Mrs. Andrews said. “They’re on their way now.”

“Barton and Coulson?” River said, desperately hoping that somehow they had already made it out. 

“I don’t know. Agent Song, I really don’t think you should--”

River had already turned and was running back into the building, Kessler on her heels.

*****

They couldn’t get out.

For a few seconds, Clint had thought they were home free. What was left of their simulation chamber was at the end of the corridor. The emergency exit was right there. But no matter how much weight he threw against it, it wouldn’t budge. It was stuck or jammed. _Locked_ , an oddly calm voice in his head suggested.

He had tried to clear the other direction, tried to shift some of the rubble blocking the corridor. He had gotten nothing but singed hands for his efforts. Clint had briefly considered trying to drag Coulson through the ruined simulation chamber. He remembered from the tour that each one had an emergency exit. But the room was still in flames. He didn’t like their odds of getting through, especially given the level of coordination (or lack thereof) that Coulson was displaying right now. Clint didn’t want to think about how hard the other man might have hit the wall when the chamber had blown.

“Clint,” Coulson croaked. He was on the floor, propped up against the wall where Clint had left him. “Get down. Get on the floor.” When Clint just looked at him, Coulson’s voice grew impatient. “We’re not going to get ourselves out of here. We need to wait for help. Get down on the floor out of the damned smoke.”

Clint did as Coulson said though the air wasn’t all that much better down at floor level. Help needed to get there pretty damn soon.

*****

River and Kessler found Fletcher and Alikakos at the tunnel’s midpoint.

Fletcher was lying in the corridor, dazed, blood coating one side of his face. River knelt down and started levering him up off of the floor. Kessler went for Alikakos. The man was face down in the doorway of the simulation chamber. 

“Come on. Get up,” River said as she hoisted Fletcher upward. “We need to get out of here.” 

To her relief she felt Fletcher nod and try to work his feet under him. Once the other agent was steady, she started to help him move back along the corridor toward the stairs. An ominous cracking noise made her stop and turn, looking back to see how close Kessler and Alikakos were.

Kessler had gotten Alikakos up, but they were lagging too far behind. River caught sight of them just in time to see a flaming section of ceiling collapse across the corridor, right on top of the other two agents. She heard Fletcher shout something and try to pull out of her grip and go back.

River kept a tight hold on the other man, though, and dragged him toward the stairs. There was nothing left there to go back for.

By the time River burst out of the front door of the building, help was starting to arrive. She was dimly aware that Park and Murray had been moved over to the back of an ambulance. Someone came forward to take charge of Fletcher as soon as she’d cleared the doors. River ducked away from a pair of hands that reached out to her. She coughed violently, bending over, hands braced on her knees. Her eyes were stinging and watering and her left forearm throbbed and burned. She thought vaguely that she must have leaned it against something hot on that last trip out.

The hands came back and River saw Mrs. Andrews kneeling in front of her. 

“Come over to the ambulance,” Mrs. Andrews said. “More help is coming. You’ve done enough.”

River just shook her head. Clint and Coulson were still down below. If they had somehow made it out, either through their chamber or one of the others, they’d be here by now. With the ceiling collapsed, they’d be cut off. 

River refused to entertain the idea that there was nothing left to save. They were still down there, somewhere in the tunnels. Rabbits trapped in the warren.

_What does every rabbit warren have, Melody?_

River’s breath caught for a second.

_A back door._

Without stopping or sparing the breath to try to explain, River turned and started running, circling around the small building and across the field of dry winter grass beyond.

It was easy enough to follow the path of the tunnel below. The air vents were sending up steady streams of smoke. River followed them until the ground dropped off in a sharp embankment. She half fell in her haste to get down it.

She felt like crying with relief when she saw the door.

The door that had a metal bar wedged through the handle. Kessler, the bastard, had sealed it shut. River wrenched it loose, losing skin from her hands in the process.

The door opened onto the top of a metal staircase that let down into a bare concrete room with another door that must lead into the tunnel. This one had also been wedged shut and was hot to the touch. River pulled her sleeves down over her hands far enough that she could get a grip on the bar to pull it free. With a quick prayer that she wouldn’t cause a back draft, River pulled open the door. Smoke and heat washed over her.

There were two bodies laying in the floor. For one horrible second, River thought she was too late.

Then Clint moved, rolling halfway onto his back.

River knelt down, wrapping her arms around him and dragging him to his feet and toward the exit. 

Once they were up the metal stairs and outside, River helped Clint clear of the smoke and unceremoniously dumped him onto the ground before turning and running back for Coulson. She thought she heard Clint try to shout something after her, but she was already starting down the steps again.

Coulson hadn’t moved and when River pulled him up from the floor he felt like so much dead weight. She pushed aside the idea that that description could be quite literal. River got them up the metal stairs mostly by feel and sheer stubbornness. By now she could barely see, barely breathe, and couldn’t even really tell how Coulson was doing except that she didn’t think she was entirely carrying him. He seemed to be at least trying to move himself along, which meant that he was still alive.

At last the smoke thinned, River’s blurred vision lightened a bit, and she felt cold wind in her face and grass and dirt under her feet. They were out.

Coulson was pulled out of her grasp almost immediately. At the same time a pair of arms wrapped around her, propelling her along so fast that River’s feet nearly left the ground. When River momentarily panicked, fighting against the hold, the arms gave her a rough shake and a familiar voice barked in her ear. 

“God’s sake, girl, settle down! It’s just me,” Agent Stone said.

A disjointed set of moments later, River found herself sitting on the ground in the center of a flurry of activity. The damp winter air felt heady, even if her throat still felt like it was pinched too tight. Once her vision cleared she could see three jeeps, another ambulance and a small crowd of paramedics and SHIELD personnel gathered at the back entrance. Coulson was lying on the ground a few feet away, nearly blocked from view by the people working on him. One of his hands was within easy reach though, and when River reached over and grasped it she immediately felt him squeeze hers in return.

She turned to look for Clint and had to choke back what she was pretty sure would have been hysterical laughter. Clint was trying to fight off the medics.

River scooted over until she was beside one of the two paramedics who were kneeling on either side of him, attempting to wrestle him into an oxygen mask. She planted one hand firmly in the middle of his chest. 

“Hawkeye!” Her own voice came out raw and raspy. “Stand down. We’re all okay.”

Clint froze, staring up at her. River felt something very warm curl around her heart.

She had died and regenerated four times over the course of her life. Each time, the business of coming back to life had been painful and disorienting. River had sometimes wondered if it was because it was a process that a human (or someone mostly human) wasn’t meant to experience.

Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like.

A second later, Clint had shoved aside the medics’ hands and sat up, wrapping his arms tightly around her. River knew she should tell him to lie down and put his damn mask on. She also wanted to shake him and ask him how long he’d been in love with her and why the hell hadn’t he said something? Instead she just returned the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder.

She was vaguely aware that the medics and other agents had moved away to give them some space, but that she and Clint were being watched. Well, let them watch.

When Clint’s hold on her slackened a bit, River reluctantly pulled away so that she could see his face. He looked half scared, like he wasn’t sure she was going to like what she had just seen.

That was the thing about her and Clint. They didn’t talk their relationship to death because, for the most part, they didn’t need to.

“Well,” River said seriously, “I guess we’re both just fucked, aren’t we?”

The worry in Clint’s eyes lightened and, with a tired laugh, he leaned forward so that his forehead rested against hers. “I really, really think we are,” he said.

River closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she noted with detached concern that the world seemed to be going a little bit cockeyed and oddly dim. 

Or possibly that was her.

“Clint?” She felt Clint’s arms hastily come up around her again. “I think I need to lie down.”

That was the last thing she remembered for a while.

*****

_December 16, 2008_  
 _Sussex, England_

Coulson woke abruptly in the dim infirmary room. 

He couldn’t immediately identify what had woken him. Not that it would have taken much. He’d been on high alert ever since his oxygen levels had been brought back to something approaching normal.

He and his agents had nearly died at the hands of one of their own. That wasn’t the sort of thing that allowed a man to rest easily.

Coulson automatically looked over to check on Clint and River. As soon has he’d been told what had sparked the explosions down in the tunnels, Coulson had insisted that the three of them, Kessler’s intended targets, be moved into the same room.

Paranoid? Maybe. Maybe a little more preemptive paranoia would have saved lives this week.

But Clint and River were both sound asleep. Coulson smiled slightly. Even in separate beds, six feet apart, they were turned toward each other and if one woke he knew the other would follow in seconds.

Coulson looked at the clock over River’s bed. It was almost 0400. Coming up on the thirty-six hour mark since the attack.

Still trying to put his finger on what had woken him up, Coulson let his eyes drift to his other side. He nearly jolted out of his own skin at the sight of the figure sitting in the chair in the corner by his bed.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he said, just barely managing to keep his voice at a whisper.

“Good to see you too, Phil,” Fury said, leaning forward in his chair.

Coulson slumped back on his pillows, bringing one hand up to smother a round of coughing. He gratefully took the plastic cup of water that Fury shoved into his hand, letting it ease his irritated throat.

“When did you get here?” he asked when he was reasonably sure that talking wouldn’t set him off again.

“A few hours ago,” Fury said, taking the cup back. “You’ll be glad to know that Agent Stone checked my credentials thoroughly before he’d let me in.”

“That sounds like Stone,” Coulson said tiredly. Stone and a handful of agents he’d handpicked had unofficially taken up guard duty on the three New York agents. All evidence so far pointed to Kessler working alone, but just in case he had collaborators who might want to finish the job, precautions were being taken.

“Did you meet with Wright?” Coulson asked.

Fury nodded. “And Griffith. And Agent Rochester, the head of base security. He had a preliminary report on the situation.”

The situation seemed to be fairly straightforward thus far. After the incident in the pub in Upper Beeding, Agent Stone had brought Kessler back to base and dumped him in his quarters to sleep off his bender. Apparently at some point that night, Kessler had pulled together enough sobriety to liberate a cache of explosives and wire up the simulation chamber that Clint, Coulson, and River had been assigned to for the exercise. The intent had clearly been to kill all three of them.

Agent Stone had looked like he’d been gut punched by guilt when he’d first come to visit Coulson in the infirmary. “Phil, I’m sorry,” he’d said. “If I’d had any idea he’d pull something like that I’d have locked his ass in a detention cell.”

Fortunately, Kessler’s plan had been far from foolproof. The bomb had been timed to go off when the three New York agents should have been getting settled into the chamber. But then River had been held back by Mrs. Andrews, and Clint and Coulson had been delayed by Alikakos in the tunnel. 

Agent Rochester and the investigators were still attempting to determine how the bomb that was supposed to destroy only one chamber had taken out the entire tunnel. They were all but certain that there had been only the one device—no bomb parts had surfaced yet in other areas of the tunnel. They payload had been larger than it needed to be, and the suspicion was that it had sparked some sort of chain reaction in the electrical system. A separate team of investigators was being brought in to verify the findings and continue examining the evidence.

The internal investigation was shaping up to take weeks if not months. They wouldn’t be able to get answers straight from the horse’s mouth, unfortunately. Kessler’s remains had been recovered from the tunnel along with those of Alikakos. Two fatalities, six injuries. From what Coulson had heard, Park, Murray, and Fletcher hadn’t been badly hurt. They had already been released from Medical.

Clint, Coulson, and River had fared worse. They all had some nasty, though not serious, burns. They’d all inhaled an unhealthy amount of smoke and fumes. River seemed to have wrenched half the muscles in her body hauling her handler and partner out of danger. Coulson had a mild concussion from where the blast had thrown him into a wall. Still, all things considered, they’d gotten off lightly. The doctors had made some noises about discharging them soon.

“I’m going to want to personally debrief all three of you later today,” Fury said. “I’ve already had a very long discussion with Wright. He’s going to be accepting an early retirement package once the investigation is concluded.”

Coulson nodded wearily. “I’d also like to recommend that we find the psychologist that cleared Kessler for duty and put his or her ass in a sling. Sir.”

Coulson knew that, in the end, Kessler had saved agents down in the tunnels. He wasn’t sure how that possibly balanced against causing the event that put them in danger in the first place, all for the sake of revenge.

“I’ll put it on the list,” Fury said. Coulson got the feeling that the Director’s list was very long at the moment. “Now,” he added, settling back in his chair, “go back to sleep, Phil. We’ll talk more later.”

Coulson nodded, his eyes already drifting closed. With Fury keeping watch, he had no problem whatsoever settling into a deep sleep.

*****

Fury interviewed each of them separately in Doctor Abbott’s office. Under ordinary circumstances, a personal solo debriefing from the Director himself might be a cause for general squirming. These weren’t ordinary circumstances, though. Shit was hitting the fan, no doubt about it, but Clint, Coulson, and River were just being called upon to fill in some blanks.

River’s interview was the last. She sat across the desk from Fury and methodically went through her encounters with Kessler and the fire in the tunnel. She stuck to the bare facts and kept her eyes focused on the second button of Fury’s shirt for the entire eighty-eight minutes.

At last, Fury sat back, nodding. “Thank you, Agent Song. Is there anything you would like to add?”

He waited patiently for her to answer. It was sometimes easy to overlook what a fundamentally patient man Fury was. 

“I’m sorry about this, sir,” River finally said.

She looked up in time to see Fury arch an eyebrow. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what?”

River shifted in her chair, half wishing she’d just said _Thank you, sir,_ and left. Well, in for a penny and all of that. 

“Kessler wanted to kill me. Everyone else just got in the way.” Clint and Coulson could have died. “I’m sorry.”

Fury leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Agent Song, did you plant incendiary devices in that tunnel?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you personally do anything to cause destruction of property, bodily harm, or loss of life here?”

“No, sir.”

“Then can the apologies,” Fury said. “Agent Kessler made his own choices. You do not get to take responsibility for them. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

She must not have sounded terribly convincing. Fury was eyeing her. “Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Sir, I was just wondering how long the investigation is expected to take?”

For all that she had been happy to arrive here, River found that she really couldn’t wait to get off of the Sussex base. 

“Several weeks, at least,” Fury said. “Things should never have gotten this far out of hand, and SHIELD needs to know exactly how that happened. It’ll take time.”

River nodded, face carefully blank. 

“However,” Fury added, “now that the three of you have been debriefed, you won’t really have anything to do until the official hearing, which realistically won’t happen until sometime in mid-January. I’m hesitant to send you all back to New York, but there’s no reason for you to have to cool your heels on base for that amount of time. In fact, until I’m absolutely confident that Kessler didn’t have any collaborators, I’d feel better if you didn’t. 

“You know this island pretty well, don’t you, Agent Song?”

River could feel a bit of confusion creeping across her face in spite of her best attempts to remain impassive. “Yes, sir. I do.”

Fury nodded.

“Doctor Abbott tells me that he plans to discharge you all from Medical tomorrow morning. I want you to pack up Agent Coulson and Agent Barton and get out of here. Take them someplace quiet. Leave me the information, but don’t tell anyone else where you’re going. I don’t want to see or hear from any of you until after New Year’s. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. You’re dismissed.”

River was almost at the door when Fury added, “Agent Song?”

She turned and looked back at the Director.

“You did good out there.”

This time River allowed herself the smallest hint of a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, then left to go check on her boys.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because any self-respecting Doctor Who crossover should have a Christmas Special.
> 
> Though this is technically the epilogue, there _will_ be one additional chapter which will go up later this week. Remember kids, friends don't let friends leave a Marvel movie until after the credits.

_December 18, 2008_  
 _Scotland_

They took the train.

It was, River explained, easier than driving and less exhausting than dealing with an airport would be. Clint and Coulson had gamely gone along with it, changing trains and all, as hour after hour passed and they headed further and further north, crossing the border into Scotland.

The three of them took over a four-square of seats, two pairs facing each other. Clint and Coulson dozed a good bit. They were still getting back to one-hundred percent, and a swaying train car seemed to be as effective as a rocking cradle. River smirked a bit at that thought.

River, for her part, alternated between reading scraps of her book and watching the scenery pass by out the window. And at all times she kept an eye on her boys.

As their train pulled out of the station in Edinburgh, en route to Glasgow, Clint gently tugged the book out of her hands. 

“You need to get some rest, too,” he said.

River reached over and took her book back.

“I’m fine,” she said. At Clint’s raised eyebrow, she sighed. “I nearly lost the two of you. Humor me and let me look out for you, all right?”

This time, it was Coulson who reached across and swiped her book. 

“We look out for each other,” he said. “That’s how this works, remember?” He tucked the book behind his back where she couldn’t get to it without getting up. “Rest, Song. Don’t make me make it an order.”

“Like you really think that would work,” River said, but she did relax a bit more, leaning against Clint, trying to get comfortable in spite of all the aches and pains. It turned out to be easier than she’d thought. It was as if, now that she’d been given official permission, her body was going to obey Coulson’s not-order even if the rest of her would rather not. 

“Wake me up when we get to Glasgow,” she said, allowing her eyes to close. “We have to change trains one more time.”

“River?” Clint sounded perplexed. “Where are you _taking_ us?”

“You’ll see.”

*****

“This is Oban.”

River watched Clint and Coulson look around. There wasn’t much to see at the moment. They were outside the train station, waiting for the taxi to pull around, and it was dark. It was December in the Highlands. The sun had set at four o’clock, long before their arrival.

Clint hunched his shoulders a bit as a damp wind blew up off the nearby harbor. 

“What’s an Oban?” he asked.

“Fishing town. Well, it used to be,” River replied. “It’s mostly a resort town, now, but that’s in summer. It’s also the main ferry port to the western islands.”

“We’re not getting on a boat now, are we?” Coulson asked, hitching his duffle strap a little higher on his shoulder.

River shook her head.

“No. We’re just catching a ride to the house. Then, I promise, we can stay put for a few weeks.”

“House?” Clint asked.

“The house I let.”

“How did you manage to find a house to rent at the ass-end of Scotland?”

“I know people,” River said.

“Of course you do,” Clint replied, shaking his head as the taxi pulled up to the curb.

*****

It was more of a cottage, really, on a narrow side lane off George Street, close enough to the harbor to taste salt in the air. Good sized kitchen, smallish sitting room, and a bedroom off to either side. River checked the kitchen cabinets, nodding in satisfaction. She’d have to go to the market in the morning, but the non-perishables had been stocked.

Coulson tiredly bid them good night and retired to one of the bedrooms. Clint and River found themselves in the other, regarding each other silently across the small space. This was the first time they’d been alone since Kessler’s death trap. Now that things were out in the open between them it was as if they’d suddenly gone shy around each other.

“So,” Clint said finally. “Oban. I guess you’ve been here before, huh?”

River nodded.

“Passed through, once. A long time ago.”

Damn, did being in love with him ever make it harder to lie to him. Made her wish she could tell him the truth.

He half smiled. She could tell he knew the non-answer for the evasion that it was, but he drew closer instead of pulling away.

 _I could get used to this_ , River thought. Being wrapped up safe and warm and knowing that she actually had a chance of keeping it this time.

Even after so many years, it turned out life could still surprise her. That was a good feeling, too.

“Love you,” Clint murmured in her ear. After a moment, he drew back a bit with a teasing smile. “You’re not going to faint on me again, are you?”

River made a face and gave him a light smack. The fact that all she could easily reach was his ass was purely coincidental.

“Actually, I was thinking of keeping you up for a while.”

*****

Clint beat her to the market the next morning.

“Sleep in,” River vaguely remembered his saying, pulling the duvet up close around her shoulders. “I’ll take care of groceries.”

The smell of toast, bacon and eggs, and coffee eventually lured her out of bed.

Coulson was at the table reading a newspaper. Clint was manning the stove. He handed River a plate and a mug of tea, and then leaned in to kiss her while her hands were full.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

River couldn’t help a guilty glance in Coulson’s direction, but their handler seemed to be ignoring them. He wasn’t fooling her for a minute, of course.

River took a seat across from him at the kitchen table while Clint started his own batch of eggs. She cleared her throat slightly.

“So,” River said, “I know we had more important things to worry about at the time, but did Clint and I out ourselves back there? The fact that we’re…” River saw Clint glance over his shoulder at her with a small smile. “Together?”

Coulson calmly flipped a page of the newspaper.

“I hate to break this to the two of you, but that wasn’t much of a secret to begin with.”

River pulled a bit of a face, but she nodded. “But is it going to not be a secret officially now?”

SHIELD did have certain regulations pertaining to romantic relationships between coworkers, particularly partners who worked as closely and in as high-risk areas as Clint and River did. She knew that there was a certain amount of flexibility in those rules, though. Hawkeye and Talon were valuable enough assets that rules had bent for them before. And River figured that if SHIELD had any plans to disrupt their partnership (in either sense) Coulson would know about it and wouldn’t be sipping his coffee as calmly as he was.

Coulson folded up his newspaper and set it aside. “I’m probably going to make you two read through and sign off on the protocols on dating coworkers,” he said, getting up to refill his coffee mug. “But beyond that? No human resource sanctioned torture.”

“What about all the crap about loss of objectivity?” Clint asked.

Coulson looked over his shoulder at the pair of them. He was smiling slightly. “How exactly did you put it? ‘Fuck objectivity’?”

River set her tea aside and got up from the table. “Hey, Phil?” When Coulson turned away from the coffee pot, River wrapped both arms around his middle, hugging him.

Why not? Like Coulson had said, statistically speaking, far stranger things could happen than this. Statistics could go the way of objectivity today.

River saw Clint make an _awwwww_ face. She felt more than heard Coulson laugh. He bumped his chin against the top of her head and patted her back. “You’re kind of a freak. You know that, kid?”

River smiled, tightening her arms for a second. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

*****

There was never any plan to get out and see all the sights in Oban. That wasn’t what this vacation was about. This was about resting and regrouping. It was about stacks of books, BBC television, kitchen raids, and neither being in nor preparing to be in mortal danger.

This vacation was about being normal. Anonymous. Not the sort of anonymity that came from having a cover, but just being regular visitors recharging their batteries in the little ocean-side town.

They didn’t spend all day every day just hanging around the cottage, though. The weather might be damp and brisk and the daylight hours short, but they did venture out for fresh air. If they happened to see some of the sights along the way, that was just a bonus.

“What’s that up there?” Clint asked River as the two of them strolled down the walkway along the harbor one day. 

He was looking north at a small spur of land sticking out into the ocean. There was a steep hill there, with a small, square-ish structure on top. Clint’s eyesight was exceptional, as his code name implied, but it was hard to tell from down in the town what the building on top was.

“It’s a castle. An old one,” River replied. After a quiet moment, she added, “Do you want to go up there? It’s not too far.”

“Yeah. Let’s go see what that’s about.”

It wasn’t much of an exertion for the two of them. About a mile along the harbor shore, and then a short, steep hike up the hill. The old wreck of a castle was largely overgrown with ivy and stood open to the elements and to any curious visitors who might want to explore. Clint ventured inside through the back doorway. River waited a moment before she followed.

The old kitchen felt smaller somehow, for all that it was empty and echoing and cold. It was a very far cry from what she remembered or replayed in her dreams. River closed her eyes and breathed deep. The smells of dirt and mold were replaced for a moment by soap and wood smoke and bannocks.

The narrow stone staircase was now crumbling dangerously and had been chained off. It wasn’t enough to really block them if they’d wanted to venture up, but Clint and River stayed on the ground floor. River let Clint lead. They quietly walked through the rooms before wandering outside again through the open doorway into the front garden. Someone, at some point, had put up a historical marker there.

“It says the existing structure is believed to date back to the fifteenth century,” Clint said, reading. “And that people actually lived here up until the forties. That’s wild.” 

River listened with her back to him. She stood with her elbows resting on the stone garden wall, looking out over the bay. Below, a ferry cut through the water, running its route to one of the outer islands. 

Clint stepped up beside her after a moment. River glanced sidelong at him. He had an odd look on his face, like he wanted to ask her a question. She wondered if it was a question about a story she’d told to a little girl last summer about living in an old, falling-down castle by the sea.

River watched Clint mentally shake his head.

“Great view,” he said instead.

“Beautiful,” she agreed.

They waited until the ferry drifted out of sight before River slipped her hand into his and they turned to walk back to town.

*****

On Christmas Eve, River chased them both out of the kitchen.

Well, she would have, except that there wasn’t really any place to chase them to. So, instead Clint and Coulson remained largely underfoot, offering assistance and commentary.

“My _God_ , that is a big fish,” Clint said.

“Yes, well. I’ve seen how you eat,” River replied, cutting up the fish and arranging the pieces in a large baking dish. She took a second to lift the lid on a pot of boiling potatoes, blowing back against the steam to see how they were coming.

Clint didn’t protest that observation.

“Am I doing this right?” Coulson asked. He was looking down at the pile he was producing on the cutting board in front of him as if he expected something to turn around and bite him.

“They’re fine,” River said. “They’re just leeks. Trust me, you can’t screw them up.”

“So, when did you learn to cook, anyway?” Clint asked.

River raised her eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I cook.”

They swapped the duty on missions all the time, at least when they weren’t able to get take-out.

“Yeah…but this is real cooking. With a stove. And recipes.”

“Plus, I think the apron is throwing him,” Coulson added.

River gave them both a look and wagged the knife she was using to cut up the fish. “Look. This is about as close to domesticity as the two of you are ever likely to see me get,” she said. “So shut up and enjoy it. And hand me the butter.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clint handed the butter over with a grin.

Christmas Eve dinner was eaten off of mismatched plates at a slightly too small, slightly uneven kitchen table. Coulson contributed a bottle of scotch that he’d picked up at the local distillery. Clint had been in charge of dessert and had made something that sort of resembled fudge. It never did set and had to be eaten with spoons. He blamed the “weird British measurements.” No one had any complaints about the taste, though.

After dinner and the washing up, they made camp in the living room, flipping channels to find the most ridiculous Christmas specials that they possibly could. By quarter-of-ten, Clint and Coulson were both sound asleep, Clint on the sofa and Coulson in the armchair, his feet propped up on the ottoman. 

River quietly went to her room and changed into her grey suit. She wasn’t sneaking off, she reasoned. She was just going out while Clint and Coulson were asleep. They’d likely never know she was gone.

It wasn’t a long walk to St. John’s. River wasn’t even sure why she was going. The last Christmas she’d celebrated in this church had been in 1943, back when she’d been legitimately young and innocent. She had believed back then, without question, just like she’d believed the Academy’s stories about the Doctor. She’d lost most of that faith along the way. After all that she’d been through, River had a hard time believing that anything (or Anything) was watching over her.

But she was here. She was in Oban at Christmas. She was here with Clint and Coulson, both of them alive and well when they’d almost been taken away from her. She loved and was loved in return. And who knows? Maybe she’d even managed to earn some measure of forgiveness for things that she’d done.

So whether there was Something or not, River felt herself being drawn to St. John’s. Towns might change, but churches tended to remain fairly static little bubbles in time, and St. John’s Cathedral was no exception. It was almost jarring how familiar it felt when River stepped inside. She smiled and accepted a program from one of the teenage boys on usher duty, but she hovered in the vestibule for a few minutes before going in, looking at the old pictures and reading the plaques that almost covered over the walls.

She was halfway down the wall when she spotted it, next to a black and white picture of a Sunday school class; a small brass plaque like so many others on the wall.

_In Memory Of_

_Melody Pond_

_June 4, 1932 – October 23, 1944_

_“Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart”_

A smaller inscription said that the plaque had been given by the children of the local grammar school.

River set aside her program and slipped out of the church as the first strains of organ music signaled the start of the service. 

She spotted Clint right away, even though he had staked out a spot across the street.

“Hello,” she said, once she’d crossed over to join him.

There was no embarrassment on her part on being caught in such an unlikely place, just as there was none on his part at having been caught shadowing her.

“Hey,” he replied, looking down at her curiously. “You’re not staying?” he added, nodding at the church. Gold light poured from the windows and they could hear the opening strains of “Away in a Manger” starting inside.

He didn’t ask what she was doing there in the first place.

River shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I thought…but no.” River threaded one arm through is. “I decided I wanted to be somewhere else.”

They walked back to the little let house in companionable silence, letting themselves in as quietly as possible. They still woke up Coulson, though, who sat up a little straighter, rubbing his eyes and blinking at them. “Did I miss something?” he asked.

River couldn’t help but grin as she gripped Clint’s arm a little bit tighter.

She was home.


	6. After The Credits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there's always a little more to the story.

Well. That hadn’t gone to plan now, had it?

Getting to River Song should have been an easy matter once the woman’s weakness had been identified. It was a universal constant that if you wanted to deliver a mortal wound, you aimed for the heart.

In River Song’s case, her heart was Clint Barton and Phil Coulson.

If only they’d died as they should have done. In the wake of such a senseless tragedy, buried under grief and guilt and loneliness, River would have been hopelessly weakened. Alone. Vulnerable.

It would have been oh so easy for the Academy to bring its prodigal daughter back into the fold.

_You’re not alone. We’re still here. You’ll be forgiven. You can come home._

Instead, the two troublesome men were still alive and River was still out of their reach. Opportunities like the one Kessler had provided were rare. The Academy was insistent—River Song had to come back willingly. To take her by force would not only be counterproductive, but dangerous. And another attempt on the men’s lives, at least in the near future, would raise her suspicions when her old family came out of the shadows to offer support.

At least Kessler had helpfully gotten himself killed. The man’s blind hatred and tenuous grip on sanity had made him very easy to manipulate, but his continued existence would have been a loose end and convenient suicides could be tricky to arrange when SHIELD was watching.

The only thing to do was bide time, wait for another opportunity. Fortunately, the Academy was very good at playing the long game. It had to be.

Another chance would come one day.

Until then they would watch. And wait.


End file.
